


The Crowned Horse

by JennaJay



Series: The Crowned Horse and Other Related Side Stories [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Crossdressing, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Persona 4 References, Phantom Thief AU, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2020-10-26 07:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 53,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20738621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaJay/pseuds/JennaJay
Summary: After the murder case, all Shuichi wanted was a new start. No more murderers. No more criminals. No more hate-filled eyes.Unfortunately for him, he meets a phantom thief whose cheerful grins and mischievous eyes make his heart flutter. And--whether he likes it or not--he’s forced to take the phantom thief’s case.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There’s a fun fact at the beginning of the chapter. They’re usually at least tangentially related to the upcoming chapter, so I encourage you to read them! 
> 
> Fun fact: Plum trees bloom in late February and early March.

A soft, warm breeze filtered through the open window, carrying with it bright rays of sunlight, the sweet scent of the neighbor’s newly-blooming plum tree, and the gentle chirping of swallows. Before long, the endless twittering of baby birds would fill the air. And, if Shuichi strained his ears, he could hear a new rush of water. The mountainside snow had begun to melt, and soon the river would swell to the edges of its banks. 

The river. The place where he had found the body.

Shuichi’s town was a small one, little more than a snaking trail of houses that followed the bends and twists of the river. Everyone knew everyone. Everyone _trusted_ everyone. Just a few months ago, Shuichi hadn’t known anyone who even locked their doors. 

Of course, that had changed after the murder case. _Everything_ had changed after the murder case. It had been jarring to see someone that Shuichi had known since childhood lying facedown in a river. Pale. Lifeless. Empty.

Granted, Shuichi had felt a little spark of relief when he’d dragged the body out of the river. Its face was--aside from a few bruises--mostly unmarred. He immediately recognized it as another one of the town’s teenagers: Kenta Yamada, a large young man who was only a year older than Shuichi. He was best known for his foul mouth, biting insults, and tendency to push anyone smaller than him around. Few would miss him. Most would feel relief at his being gone from their lives, even if they never outwardly showed it.

Which was why it came as a surprise to no one when it was revealed that Kenta had been responsible for the suicide of a young woman--one of Shuichi’s schoolmates--weeks prior to his murder. What_ did _come as a shock was that the young woman’s older brother, Daisuke--a polite man, known around town for helping the elderly tend to their gardens and for always being ready to lend a hand--had killed Kenta. Stabbed him twenty-eight times in the chest and tossed his body off a bridge like a piece of litter.

Kenta wouldn’t have been alive by the twelfth stab, much less the twenty-eighth. Daisuke had kept stabbing him long after his death. A few around town had chalked this up to a psychotic break, sudden insanity, or perhaps a psychopath finally revealing his true colors. But Shuichi had been there at Daisuke’s arrest. He’d seen his eyes. 

And Daisuke hadn’t been insane. He hadn’t been a psychopath. He was just as good a person as everyone else, if not moreso. His eyes had been filled with hate, but, laying behind that, there had been hurt. He was normal. He was human. And he was hurting because he’d just lost his only sister. 

No one had been there for him. No one had reached out to him. Daisuke had been one of the solid foundations that the town had stood on, but everyone had been so used to depending on him that, when _he _needed someone to depend on, no one knew how to help. 

And so his pain had festered and multiplied, turning into anger that directed itself at the man who was responsible to his sister’s death, releasing itself in a flurry of punching and stabbing that sustained itself until long after the man responsible was gone from the world.

And that was why Shuichi couldn’t bear to look in anyone else’s eyes anymore. The whole town had known Daisuke. Even Shuichi had a fond memory of Daisuke helping his uncle to fix their leaky roof after the dripping had kept Shuichi up all night. At one point or another, Daisuke had been a light in everyone’s life, oftentimes at their darkest moments.

Now, wherever Shuichi looked, people stared at him with hatred. And, lingering behind that hatred, there was hurt. And it was all because Shuichi had exposed the truth, forcing Daisuke’s light to leave everyone’s lives forever.

Even if the birds were chirping, even if the trees were blooming, even if the sun was high in the sky, everything seemed a little darker than it had before the murder case.

And so, Shuichi lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He’d done everything he’d been meant to do as a detective. He’d uncovered the truth, and everyone was worse off for it, including himself. He couldn’t even leave the house anymore. His aunt and uncle were too afraid that someone might try to hurt him in retaliation for getting Daisuke arrested. So, there was nothing left to do but lay in bed all day, watching the sunlight crawl across the walls as the guilt in Shuichi’s stomach gnawed at him, day in and day out.

A knock sounded at Shuichi’s door, and it swung open to reveal a slightly hunched, silver-haired man: Shuichi’s uncle.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at Shuichi, causing the lines on his forehead to deepen. 

“Have you been in bed all day?” he said. 

“Yeah,” Shuichi said. There was hurt lingering in his uncle’s eyes. He turned his head away, and, even though his limbs were heavy with guilt, he forced himself into a sitting position. The bed dipped as his uncle sat down next to him.

“So, you’re still not interested in doing detective work?” his uncle said.

Shuichi shook his head. 

“You’re really good at it, you know. I mean, you’ve proven that you’re cleverer than trained homicide detectives for a start! You could probably work for the police if you wanted to. That’d be good for you. Heaven knows that they’re better-funded than this little mom-and-pop operation we’re running here.”

“I’m not cleverer than anybody. It was dumb luck. I just stumbled across some evidence before the real detectives did,” Shuichi said.

“You _are_ a real detective. And don’t give me that ‘Oh, but I’m just your assistant’ crap that you always do. Even if you are my assistant, you’re a damn good one.”

That was right. Before the murder case, Shuichi had been his uncle’s assistant. He’d always helped his uncle out with his detective work. But now that he couldn’t bear to even think about mysteries, he’d stopped contributing. His aunt and uncle were housing and feeding him even when they didn’t need to. And there Shuichi was, laying in his room all day. A freeloader. 

His uncle cleared his throat and reached into his beige trenchcoat. “Anyways, I know that it’s not your birthday, or Christmas, or any special holiday, but I figured that you’d like this.” He pulled out a black cap and placed it on Shuichi’s head. “Your mother is a lot of things, but, at the very least, she’s a good screenwriter. I know that you like her murder mysteries, so I got you something that’d remind you of them. This hat is based off the one that the main character wore in _A Bullet of Truth._”

Shuichi had seen the movie just a couple weeks before. His mother, even if she rarely spoke to him, was involved enough in his life to send him copies of her movies whenever they were finished. _A Bullet of Truth_, in particular, had been very dark in tone. Throughout it all, the viewer saw how the protagonist--portrayed by Shuichi’s father--was playing into the murderer’s hands step-by-step, inevitably culminating in the protagonist and everyone he loved dying as part of the murderer’s master plan. 

Dark and soul-crushing. Yep. Just like Shuichi’s mother. 

Shuichi raised his hand up to his head, ready to take the hat off. He didn’t need to carry a reminder of his mother’s absence around with him. Especially one as grim as the hat.  
But, his hand stilled as he glanced at his uncle out of the corner of his eye. The rim of the hat blocked his uncle’s head and shoulders from view. Shuichi couldn’t see his eyes anymore. That meant that he couldn’t see the hatred or the hurt or the dozens of other emotions that his uncle might be experiencing. He didn’t have to acknowledge anyone else’s emotions anymore, and that realization, as guilty as it was, pulled a weight off of Shuichi’s shoulders. 

“Thank you, Uncle,” Shuichi said, straightening the cap’s brim so that it obscured most of his vision. 

His uncle gave a slight exhale, and Shuichi knew him well enough to tell that it was the sound of him nodding in acknowledgment. 

“Shuichi, there’s something I need to tell you. Your aunt and I--God, there’s no easy way to break this news. This place isn’t good for our family anymore. Even aside from people holding grudges, no one wants to have anything to do with my private eye firm. Our savings are running low. We can’t stay here forever. So, your aunt and I have decided that we’re moving. To Tokyo.”

“Why Tokyo?”

“A fresh start. Clean slate. Change of scenery. And I hear the schools out there are really good, compared to what we have here. Who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to take up detective work again. There are some prestigious agencies out there, and you’re definitely very good at it. Maybe you could join one? We wouldn’t want you to sit on your butt all day and squander all of your god-given abilities, after all.”

“Alright, maybe…”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m planning on updating the story on a bi-weekly basis, and it’ll be a long-runner if my first draft of this story is anything to do by (18,000 words long and I barely got into the main plot, hahaha kill me now). 
> 
> Fun fact: The red postman butterfly is native to the Americas, and they look pretty cool. [Here’s a Wikipedia article on them.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heliconius_erato)
> 
> Additional fun fact: Wild wolf packs generally do not have an “alpha” and a strict hierarchy, as is commonly depicted. Rather, they usually consist of a set of parents and their children with the parents being in charge, similar to human family units!

It was jarring, having the house so empty.

Everything that Shuichi’s family owned had been loaded into the moving van, leaving nothing in the house but the walls, the roof, and the lights. It was as if his home--the place that he had lived for as long as he could remember--was stripped down to its barest skeleton, all its life torn away when its furniture and decorations had been carried out. 

Shuichi pulled the brim of his hat low and stepped outside. The orange light of dawn was just starting to glimmer around the mountains’ peaks. They’d leave as soon as there was enough light to see by. Before the rest of the town woke up.

Gravel crunched behind him, and a hand rested on his shoulder. “Shuichi…” It was the soft, even voice of his aunt.

“I know that this is probably incredibly hard for you, but--”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shuichi?” The deep concern suffusing his aunt’s voice made his chest hurt. 

“I’m sorry,” Shuichi repeated. “It’s my fault that Uncle doesn’t have any business anymore, it’s my fault that everyone hates us, and it’s my fault that we can’t live here anymore. So, I’m sorry.” Shuichi’s voice cracked. He took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. “If I’d just kept my nose out of the murder case, forgotten that I’d seen anything--” 

“Shuichi. Look at me.”

Shuichi stiffened, and he reflexively tugged his hat. But, he turned in the direction of his aunt, keeping his vision aimed squarely at the gravel-covered soil beneath his feet.

“And take that hat off. Look me in the eyes.”

Shuichi gingerly removed his hat and met his aunt’s gaze. Her eyes were filled with pity, accompanied by the faint glimmer of rising tears.

“You did the right thing. You brought a murderer to justice. I don’t care what anyone thinks about you or about our family. _I’m_ proud of you.” His aunt stepped forward, closing the distance between them and pulling him into an embrace.

“Listen, Shuichi. We’ll be fine. Your uncle and I can handle this. And let me tell you something: We couldn’t wish for a better nephew. Don’t beat yourself up over this, okay? Can you promise me that?”

“I promise.” The words were empty. And, if the guilt still churning in Shuichi’s stomach was any indication, he’d already broken his promise the second the words had come out of his mouth.

Even as his aunt hugged him tighter, Shuichi couldn’t shake the feeling that his aunt was only trying to spare his feelings. That he was to blame. For everything.

\------

Kokichi pressed his cheek against the limousine’s tinted window, binoculars raised to his eyes. Through the windows several stories above, silken curtains and glittering chandeliers shone a bright white against the night’s dark sky. Every so often, a tuxedoed man would pass into and out of view. The party was continuing as planned. Same hotel. Same floor. Same room. God, he’d gone to the trouble of announcing his arrival--he’d sent his trademark calling card an entire week in advance--and these rich idiots hadn’t even _tried_ to make things challenging for him. The plan was going to go off without a hitch. 

So. Boring. If these people didn’t step up their game, Kokichi might just quit this whole “phantom thief” thing entirely. 

Kokichi discarded his binoculars, flopped onto his seat, and exhaled a loud groan, his disguise slipping off his lap and onto the floor.

“Something wrong, boss?” His henchman, Tai--one of the older, larger members of DICE, and the limousine’s driver, asked.

“It’s no big deal. It’s just that that incompetent detective--what’s his name, Mr. Naga-something?--just walked into the hotel’s lobby,” Kokichi lied.

“No, he didn’t.”

“What do you mean he didn’t? Are you doubting me, Tai?”

“Yes.”

Kokichi sniffled, letting tears well up in his eyes. “W-wow, Tai. Anyone who looked at you might think that you’re soft and friendly, but in reality you’re a big, old, stinking, _meanie!_ We’ve been friends for how long now? And you still don’t trust me?” The tears streamed down Kokichi’s face, flowing in thick rivers.

“Kokichi, I have eyes.”

“Not very good ones, apparently. I mean, you didn’t even see that detective waltzing right on into the hotel!”

A vein bulged on Tai’s bald forehead. If Kokichi pressed his lies a bit further, it might pop. But, as funny as it was to push Tai’s buttons, it’d be better to change the topic of conversation.

Kokichi scooped his disguise off the floor and tossed his checkered bandana aside. “Keep a lookout while I change. We wouldn’t want that detective to see us doing anything suspicious out here.”

“Fine, _Boss._”

\------

The apartment had low ceilings and close walls. Once the furniture had been moved in, there was barely any room to walk across the floor. It felt like everything about the apartment was trying to trap him inside, especially with the half-unpacked boxes of dishes and decorations blocking every path through the house.

But, at last, after several long hours of unpacking, the empty cardboard boxes had been discarded and everything was set in its proper place. So, Shuichi, his muscles aching and eyes falling shut, staggered to his bedroom, flopped onto his bed, and let himself drift off into unconsciousness.

But, just before sleep could take him, the door to his room banged open. “Shuichi! Guess what?”

Shuichi sighed and tried to burrow himself deeper into his pillow. “Can it wait? I’m really tired.”

“Nope! We’ve got a client.”

“Oh. Okay. When are you going to meet them?”

“Five minutes.” What sounded like a lump of cloth thumped on the bed next to Shuichi. “And _I’m_ not going to meet them. _We’re_ going to meet them. Come on, get dressed.”

Shuichi cracked an eyelid open. On the bed next to him was a brand-new tuxedo.

\------

“Come on, Shuichi, keep up. We don’t want to be late!” Shuichi’s uncle called, walking at a brisk pace several meters in front of him.

“Ah! Sorry!” Shuichi said. He’d managed to slip the tuxedo on before he’d left the house, but he hadn’t had any time to get his shoes on before his uncle had pushed him out the door. Currently, he was hopping along the sidewalk, unsuccessfully trying to wrestle a black loafer onto his foot. 

“Why are we doing an investigation so late?” Shuichi asked, weaving in between the other sidewalk-goers and trying his best not to bump into--or worse--accidentally kick someone with his extended leg.

“We’re springing on this case so quickly because our client, Mrs. Gokuhara, A) has a lot of money, and B) is very well-known. If we do our job well, we’ll get paid handsomely, _and_ she’ll recommend our business to all her rich friends. Since we’re new in town and no one knows about us yet, it’s the perfect way to advertise!” 

“Ah, I suppose that you have more business sense than I do,” Shuichi said.

His uncle stopped walking, and Shuichi almost crashed into him. “Looks like we’re here,” his uncle said.

Soaring above them was a skyscraper, dozens of stories tall, it’s surface covered in large windows. From the size of it, it looked big enough to house everyone who lived in Shuichi’s hometown with plenty of room to spare, and it wasn’t even the tallest building around.

Shuichi lowered his eyes. The gigantic glass-and-concrete structures loomed above him, almost as if their hard, flat faces were the walls of a box, slowly but surely closing in on him. Even as big as the city was, living in it was claustrophobic. Shuichi doubted that he’d ever get used to it. 

His uncle strode forward and held the hotel’s glass front door open. “After you,” he said. 

\------

Shuichi finally managed to wrangle his shoe onto his foot while standing in the elevator, listening to his uncle explain the situation to him. Mrs. Gokuhara’s son had gone missing ten years before, and had recently been found. So, she and her husband had decided to host a party to celebrate his return. Both Mr. and Mrs. Gokuhara would be there, and Shuichi and his uncle had been hired to investigate Mr. Gokuhara himself, as his wife suspected him of cheating.

“The story goes that ever since their son got back, Mr. Gokuhara has been acting strange, he goes on ‘business trips,’ but never books any flights, he acts secretive while he’s on his phone or computer, and rumors are circulating that he’s been meeting with a certain young woman lately,” Shuichi’s uncle explained. “I’m going to focus on getting to know Mr. Gokuhara himself. Maybe he’ll let something slip that’ll provide us with hard evidence. Your job is to mine information from his friends and family. They might have more to say about his suspicious behavior.”

“Oh, okay.” Shuichi’s gut twisted. Infidelity cases were pretty run-of-the-mill, but when they got ugly, they got ugly _fast_. Too often, they ended with the faithful partner breaking down emotionally, or worse, the exposed cheater getting violent. 

The image of hate-filled eyes was clear in Shuichi’s mind, only now they were superimposed onto the face of Mr. Gokuhara. Their gaze was piercing enough to make Shuichi wince and reflexively straighten his cap. Maybe he could go the entire party without meeting anyone’s eyes. Maybe he wouldn’t find any evidence. Maybe he wouldn’t have to expose Mr. Gokuhara after all.

It felt like wishful thinking, but the idea of having that kind of hatred directed at him again made his blood run cold.

What a poor excuse for a detective he was, being so terrified of doing such a simple investigation.

\------ 

Chandeliers of sparkling crystal hung from the ceiling, scattering light around the ballroom. Along one wall stretched a row of windows, which lent a view of the dark street thirty-two floors below. Rings of ornate plates and silver utensils, all surrounding a vase of pastel roses, covered the circular tables. Older men and women filled the seats, and most of the tables had no free chairs left. Shuichi and his uncle must have arrived a little late.

At the head of the room, someone--probably Mr. Gokuhara--was giving a speech. Shuichi and his uncle discreetly made their way to one of the few open tables and sat down.

“...And I’m so very grateful that Gonta has finally come home. He’s a smart boy and a quick learner, and I couldn’t be more proud of him,” Mr. Gokuhara said. The ballroom erupted into applause, and Mr. Gokuhara sat down. To his left was a sharp-eyed woman in a lacy, blue dress--his wife--and to his right was a broad-shouldered young man with wild, brown-green hair. That must have been Gonta.

Gonta noticed Shuichi’s staring, and he gave a smile and a wave. Then, he got up and made his way over to Shuichi’s table. Standing upright, he was larger than anyone Shuichi had ever seen. Even his too-small tuxedo was barely holding itself together, trying to keep his massive form contained. It would have been easy to imagine him barrelling over the tables and chairs in his way, if he wasn’t so carefully tiptoeing around them, apologizing profusely to anyone that he accidentally bumped into.

“Looks like there’s an open space near Mr. Gokuhara. I’ll head over there,” Shuichi’s uncle said. And just like that, Shuichi was left alone.

That didn’t last for long, because Gonta plopped himself down into the now-vacant chair next to Shuichi. The chair creaked under his weight, and Shuichi couldn’t help but find the piece of furniture comically tiny when presented next to Gonta’s imposing form. 

“Hello. What your name?” Gonta asked. His voice was surprisingly calm and light for such a large man.

“Oh, I’m Shuichi, Shuichi Saihara.”

“It pleasure to meet you, Shuichi Saihara! Gonta’s name is Gonta Gokuhara.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Gonta.”

Gonta nodded in agreement. “Gonta glad he saw you. There not many young people like Gonta here.”

He was right. Most of the partygoers had streaks of silver in their hair. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone under thirty there, let alone another teenager.

“And most adults here very fine gentlemen,” Gonta continued. “Gonta only a little gentlemanly, so Gonta no want to embarrass himself in front of them. That why Gonta come to Shuichi’s table.”

It was hard enough for Shuichi to know how to act in formal situations like this one, and he had the benefit of having lived in human civilization his entire life. He could only imagine how confusing it must be for Gonta, who’d spent most of his life in the wilderness.

The doors at the back of the ballroom swung open, and a fleet of tuxedoed waiters sailed between the tables, setting plates of fresh, gourmet food in front of the partygoers. 

Shuichi and Gonta both loaded their plates up with meats and vegetables, and, as Gonta reached toward the center of the table to grab the salt and pepper, the sound of tearing fabric filled the air.

“Ah,” Gonta clutched at his shoulder where his jacket had torn at the seam, revealing his white dress shirt underneath. “That shame. These clothes _almost_ fit Gonta. Gonta hoped they last more than one wearing.”

“Do you think you can fix it?” Shuichi asked.

Gonta shook his head. “It fine. Gonta getting new clothes later today. They made by special type of tailor. I think it…’cos-tailor?’” That didn’t seem like the right word, but Gonta continued. “Whatever type of tailor, she make good clothes.” 

“I see.” Shuichi stared down at his plate. He’d managed to put the food on it without making a fool of himself, but now what? His hand hovered over the three forks on the left side of his plate, the three knives on the right, and then the extra fork on top of his plate. Which one was he supposed to use? Would it matter?

“No worry. It confuse Gonta, too,” Gonta said. He picked up his leftmost fork and rightmost knife and started cutting his food. “First silverware is furthest away from plate. Last silverware is closest to plate.”

“Oh, thanks.” Shuichi followed Gonta’s example. 

“It simple rule, but Gonta no follow it first time Gonta’s parents try to teach table manners,” Gonta continued. “In fact, Gonta eat meal with bare hands. It embarrassing memory now that Gonta know how to act like gentleman.”

Gonta’s parents. The entire reason that Shuichi was there. His job was to get information from Gonta about his father.

But it didn’t seem _right_ to do that. Gonta looked at Shuichi with a certain innocence in his eyes. Almost like a child’s. And, as Shuichi knew all too well from his previous infidelity cases, it was the children who got hurt the most when their parents had a falling out and became hostile to each other.

Would revealing the truth bring that fate onto Gonta?

Maybe it’d be better to just have a normal conversation with him. 

“It sounds like you had to un-learn a lot of bad habits once you came back to civilization,” Shuichi said. 

“That true, but Gonta no need to un-learn everything. Some things Gonta learn in forest very useful!”

“Like what?” 

Gonta’s face brightened up. “Gonta learn about bugs!”

“Bugs?”

“Yes! Gonta want to be an...en-to-mo-lo-gist when Gonta an adult!” Gonta pronounced the word “entomologist” slowly and carefully, as if he were unfamiliar with it. “Does Shuichi like bugs? What is Shuichi’s favorite bug?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say that I like bugs that much…”

“Oh...you..._hate_ bugs?” Gonta’s voice went low. His expression turned dark, and he stared at Shuichi with all the ferocity of a wild animal.

“No, no. I like bugs. I like them very much!” Shuichi said. Anything to get Gonta to calm down.

Gonta’s expression softened back into his usual cheerful one. “That good, because Gonta have something cool to show Shuichi!” Gonta dug around in his pockets and pulled out a miniature display case, showcasing a black butterfly with vivid red stripes on each of its torn wings.

“This red postman butterfly. Gonta find it on trip to Amazon rainforest. Bird try to eat it but, because it poisonous, bird spit it out. Sadly, butterfly still die. Bird no have good parents, if bird act so stupid.”

“Not...good parents?”

Gonta nodded. “In Gonta’s pack, Mama Wolf always growl really loud when pups try to eat colorful bugs. Gonta and Gonta’s siblings learn they not good eating. Human scientists have big word for bugs like that. It ‘a-po-se-ma-tic.” Gonta smiled to himself, obviously proud at having correctly pronounced such a long word.

“Wait, you were raised by wolves?!”

“Yes!” Gonta’s smile faltered, and his expression fell into a frown. “That why Gonta bad at being gentleman. Honest, Gonta surprise to hear Human Father say he ‘proud’ and Gonta ‘smart.’ He usually say Gonta ‘too feral’ or ‘not gentleman enough’ or even ‘shame to human family.’”

“Oh…” So earlier, Mr. Gokuhara had been putting on an act, trying to make himself seem better by publicly expressing affection for his son.

Just like Shuichi’s mother used to do.

“That why Gonta try hard to become gentleman! Forest family already proud of Gonta for being good hunter and good fighter, but Gonta want to make human family proud, too!”

“Uh, Gonta, are you sure that you really--” Something tall and beige moved in the corner of Shuichi’s eye, coming directly for his and Gonta’s table. What sat down in the chair next to Shuichi was a man with a sullen face, wearing a high-collared trenchcoat and a brown fedora: The perfect image of a stereotypical detective.

The man turned his stony gaze on Shuichi, considering him carefully. Then, he leaned over to Shuichi and whispered, “I know you’re The Crowned Horse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I noticed that I used a lot of short scenes in this chapter. Are they effective, or is having so many scene breaks distracting? Let me know!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is my personal headcanon that Kokichi is good at imitating voices, including female ones.
> 
> Fun fact: The name “Yoshiko” is a feminine, Japanese given name. Like many Japanese names, it has several different writings. However, the writing I settled on was 吉小, with the kanji for “luck” and “small,” respectively. Although, this is a completely made-up writing, and I cannot find any real version of “Yoshiko” with this writing (in fact, the closest real writing that I could find is 吉子, with the kanji for “luck” and “child”).

“I’m sorry, what?” Shuichi said, thinking that he’d misheard the man.

The man slammed his fist on the table hard enough to make the silverware rattle. “Dammit! He’s a slippery one!”

“Ah…” The people at other tables were starting to stare, so Shuichi raised his hands in something resembling a “calm down” motion. “What are you--?”

“I just got through interrogating everyone here, and no one’s facade cracked! If he’s in this room, which he undoubtedly is, he’s a master of staying cool under pressure. I may be underestimating him...” The man cupped his chin in his hand, rubbing his 5 o’clock shadow and looking deep in thought.

“Wait...” There was so much to unpack there. Shuichi decided to start with, “Who _are_ you?”

The man raised an eyebrow at Shuichi and dug around in his trenchcoat, pulling out a wallet that he flipped open to reveal an ID card and officer’s badge. “Inspector Nagamura. I work with the Tokyo MPD.”

He was a _detective_? And he’d come to the party dressed _in a trenchcoat and a fedora_? Hadn’t he ever heard of discretion? No one would trust him when he was so obviously trying to mine information. 

“I’m after this phantom thief, The Crowned Horse. He’s robbed thirty different museums, five different mansions, an aviary, and no one’s so much as gotten a look at him yet. The only thing we have to identify him is _this._”

Mr. Nagamura waved the laminated card so close to Shuichi’s face that Shuichi had to lean backward to see it properly.

“It’s his calling card. He leaves it behind whenever he steals something. Like he’s bragging, the bastard.”

“Ah, I see…”

“And now he’s getting real cocky. He sent one to the Gokuharas just a week ago, so we think he’s hiding here, waiting to steal something.”

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Shuichi said, secretly hoping that the man would stop his rant.

“And we have a pretty good idea what he’s here for, too.” Mr. Nagamura jerked his thumb to point at where Mrs. Gokuhara was sitting with her husband. “See that necklace?”

Shuichi hadn’t paid much attention to it, but set into a golden plate hanging around Mrs. Gokuhara’s neck was a black gemstone with a white burst of color radiating out from its center.

“That necklace she’s wearing is pretty famous. It sold for 180 million yen at an auction last year. If The Crowned Horse is going to go after anything, it’s going to be that.” 

“Hmm...I’ll keep a lookout for anyone suspicious,” Shuichi said, trying to signal an end to the conversation. The talk of criminals was bringing to mind Kenta Yamada’s murder, and the image of the killer’s hate-filled gaze was beginning to manifest in Shuichi’s mind. It was just as vivid as it had been the day of the arrest.

Shuichi felt like he might throw up his dinner.

Unfortunately for him, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He checked its screen, and was surprised to find a message from his uncle.

_Uncle: Mr. Gokuhara just left the room. I think he might be up to something, but I’m busy trying to mine information from his friends. Can you follow after him? _

Shuichi considered pocketing his phone and pretending that he hadn’t seen the messages. He gave a nervous glance in his uncle’s direction and found his uncle staring pointedly at him.

...It didn’t seem like he had much other choice. Stomach twisting into knots, Shuichi excused himself from the table and stepped out of the ballroom.

It was easy enough to follow after Mr. Gokuhara. He wasn’t heading for the bathrooms--which was immediately suspicious--but he wasn’t heading for any particular room either, and his gold-and-ruby wedding ring was still on his hand. His path took Shuichi down to the hotel’s lobby. Was he going to hop into a car and drive away? If so, Shuichi might not be able to watch him.

Shuichi’s heart sank when Mr. Gokuhara waited near the front doors, eventually meeting with an average-looking, dark-blue-haired young woman in an equally average high school uniform. Mr. Gokuhara handed the woman a wad of cash. Was something illegal about to go down?

Shuichi considered pulling out his phone and taking a video of the transaction, but the moment that his fingers brushed over his phone’s metal casing, his chest tightened. He felt as if he were caught in Daisuke’s gaze again.

On second thought, taking a video would be pretty conspicuous. Best to not. 

The young woman handed Mr. Gokuhara a suitcase. He thanked her, and went on his way, heading to the elevators and vanishing from sight.

So, maybe not adultery, but perhaps a drug addiction? The whole thing had been a little conspicuous for a drug deal, though. Perhaps nothing illicit was going on, after all.

Shuichi was about to head back upstairs and leave the issue of Mr. Nagamura’s infidelity behind him when--

“Excuse me!” It was the young woman who’d given Mr. Gokuhara the suitcase. “I’m sorry to bother you like this, but it’s plain to see that you’re the spitting image of Naoto Shirogane!”

Shuichi tensed up, and his heart started pumping so fast that he was sure it was trying to escape his ribcage. Had she seen him watching? 

“Uh...who?” he asked.

The young woman’s expression fell, and her posture lost most of its energy, leaving her slouched over the clipboard in her hands. “Oh, I see...you’re not a Persona fan?”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s a shame. I was going to ask you to do a cosplay with me, but since you don’t have any love for the character you’d be portraying…” The young woman shook her head. “I’m sorry. That was sudden. Can we start over? I’m Tsumugi Shirogane. What’s your name?”

“I’m Shuichi Saihara.”

Tsumugi “hmmed” and made a note on her clipboard. “Could I have your contact information? Say, on the off chance you gain an interest in cosplay and want help in bringing a character to life, it’d be good to get in touch. I think you’d be good at it!”

“Uh…” Shuichi glanced to the elevator. He wasn’t particularly interested in cosplay, and this woman was involved with Mr. Gokuhara _somehow._ The longer he spent talking to her, the more he felt like he was about to uncover some dark secret. 

“I’m actually busy...working,” Shuichi said. 

“I see, give me ten seconds!” Tsumugi said. She pulled a roll of measuring tape out of her purse and circled Shuichi, taking measurements of his arms, waist, and chest. “So, are you a high school student, Shuichi?” 

“Y-yeah, I’ll be a junior this April. Right now, I’m in the process of transferring to Spring Field Academy.”

Tsumugi made a note. “That’s interesting. Do you have any hobbies?” Just who was investigating who here?

“I do investigative work...sometimes...” Shuichi mentally slapped himself for not being quicker to come up with a lie.

“Oh! Like a detective? That’s perfect!”

“‘Perfect?’”

“Oh, it’s just that Naoto’s a detective, too. And it’s really a stroke of luck. I haven’t arranged a costume for a detective character in a while. I was hoping to do one of those sometime soon,” Tsumugi said. 

“I never said that I’d do the cosplay, though.”

“Hmm? Oh...right.” Tsumugi rolled up her measuring tape and scribbled a few more notes onto her clipboard. “Sorry to bother you. If you want to go, it’s fine.”

Shuichi didn’t need to be told twice. As soon as he was sure Tsumugi wouldn’t call him back, he slipped away and made a beeline for the elevators.

\------

It was surprisingly easy to slip inside the ballroom. All Kokichi had to do was steal an invitation from some poor sap who’d _actually_ been invited to the party, hand it to the bouncer, and take a seat at the most inconspicuous table possible.

Well, that had been the plan. Unfortunately, Mr. Gokuhara--the host, and likely the only person who might see through Kokichi’s disguise--was lingering around Kokichi’s table. Why had Kokichi thought it’d been a good idea to sit at the mostly-empty table with only Mr. Gokuhara’s all-brawn-no-brains son at it? _Of course_ the musclehead’s father would keep showing up.

Just a few minutes ago, Mr. Gokuhara had brought up a suitcase full of new clothes, all tailor-made for his son, but he’d quickly taken an interest in talking to Kokichi. Or, more specifically, Kokichi’s false identity as the daughter of a wealthy businessman, crafted just for this heist.

“I’m sorry to hear that Mr. Ito couldn’t make it,” Mr. Gokuhara said. “It really is unfortunate that he became violently ill just before the party.”

Kokichi pitched his voice higher and smoothed the wrinkles in his frilly, pink dress. “It’s the stress. Overwork is bad for your immune system, you know, and my father wouldn’t know a day off if it smacked him in the face,” Kokichi said, making sure to keep the lower part of his face concealed behind his unfurled, pink fan.

“But you’ve managed to not get sick, Miss Yoshiko?” 

“Yep! I’m healthy as a hor--” Kokichi hunched over the table, burying himself deep in the throes of a fake coughing fit.

“Ah! Miss Yoshiko! You don’t sound very good!” Tai announced loudly. He wore a suit and stood just behind Kokichi’s chair, playing the role of Kokichi’s bodyguard. The almost scripted lines sounded fake to Kokichi’s ears, but Tai was a pretty awful liar, so it couldn’t be helped.

“Oh…” Mr. Gokuhara’s expression turned apprehensive. “Perhaps I should head back. I’m sure my wife is wondering where I’ve gotten to.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Gokuhara! It was nice talking to you!”

Mr. Gokuhara took that as his cue to leave, and it looked to Kokichi like he was trying to run away from the sick “Yoshiko Ito” as fast as possible without making a fool of himself.

Across the table, Gonta stretched his arms as far behind his head as they could go. When his suit didn’t tear, he smiled and said, “These good clothes. Should Gonta give tailor thank you letter? That what gentlemen do when get gifts, right?”

Well, if he was stuck at a table with Gonta, at least he could have a little fun.

“Yep! Absolutely!” Kokichi said. “And that’s not all! You’re supposed to put something important to you with the letter. Y’know, to return the favor.”

“Hmm...something important to Gonta...so, bugs?”

“Wooooow~ that’s a great idea! Why don’t you send the tailor some spiders?”

“You sure tailor like spiders?”

“Definitely! People who make clothes see spiders as good luck. After all, spiders make silk, and silk is a type of fabric! Spiders have actually been the mascots of tailors for centuries!”

“Oh! Gonta not know that! Miss Yoshiko very smart. Thank you. Gonta make sure to send tailor lots of spiders.”

Kokichi chuckled to himself, content in the knowledge that some poor tailor was going to get a nasty surprise. 

Tai leaned forward and whispered in Kokichi’s ear, “So, are we doing this or not?”

“Yeah, we’ll be out in five minutes, tops. Gimme a sec.” Kokichi groaned, clutched at his stomach, and pulled a nauseous expression onto his face. He wondered if he could break out into a fake cold sweat, too. Wouldn’t hurt to try.

“Is Miss Yoshiko okay?” Gonta asked.

“You look really pale. Are you sure we shouldn’t head home?” Tai added.

“I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.” Beads of sweat forming on his brow, Kokichi leaned forward and rested his head on the table, pulling an arm around his face--both to conceal his identity and to block any stray light that might otherwise have made it through his eyelids.

Alright. Thirty seconds of darkness. Once his eyes adjusted, he’d have the upper hand.

Kokichi brushed his fingers over the fabric of his dress. Hidden on the undersides of his dress’s many ruffles and frills were a collapsible grappling hook, a roll of duct tape, and a button for remotely activating a piece of technology. All the pieces were in place.

And, with his eyes now fully adjusted, Kokichi pushed the button.

\------

The moment Shuichi stepped foot into the ballroom, someone screamed.

The lights shut off with a loud _clunk_. At the far end of the room, wood thumped onto carpet, and a man yelled. Something crashed to the ground with the high-pitched sound of shattering glass. Instinctively, Shuichi blinked, swinging his head side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of _something_. Once his eyes adjusted, Shuichi could make out the silhouettes of tables, chairs, and people, backlit by the dim, white light coming through the windows from the street below. Notably, there was no light around the edge of the door that Shuichi had come through. Even the hallway was dark. The entire floor--if not the entire hotel--must have lost power.

“Gonta scared! What going on?” 

“Easy, Gonta. Tai, do you have a flashlight on you?”

Guided by the sound of Gonta’s voice, Shuichi made his way back to his table, carefully feeling the air in front of him for obstacles. His foot bumped against the leg of a chair, and he sat down in it.

A bald man--someone about Shuichi’s height and several times more wide--pulled out a phone, activated its flashlight, and placed it in the center of the table.

“That better. Gonta see now.”

“Thank you, Tai,” a young woman said. She held an unfurled fan between her and the flashlight, covering her face in shadow. Even so, Shuichi could make out her purple hair that fell about her shoulders. The skirt of her pink dress was covered in frills, much like something a European princess from a movie might wear. The rich kids at this party sure were eccentric.

She noticed Shuichi staring at her and turned to him, still keeping her face hidden. “Hello! Nice to meet you! My name is Yoshiko--” She coughed into her fan, and Shuichi tried to lean as far away as he could from her without seeming rude.

“Little Miss!” The bald man, Tai, said. “You really should head home. You’re obviously sick!”

“No. No. I’ll be fine,” Yoshiko said. “Besides, it’d be rude to leave early, right?” Shuichi didn’t miss how her voice grew weaker or how she wrapped an arm around her stomach.

“How long we have to sit in dark?” Gonta asked, shifting in his seat. His eyes flicked side to side, and the muscles in his jaw clenched.

“It should hopefully only be a few minutes. I’m sure that a place like this will fix whatever it is soon,” Shuichi said.

Sure enough, the lights flicked back on. The ballroom was just as it had been before, minus Mr. and Mrs. Gokuhara’s table. Its floral centerpiece was knocked to the ground, vase shattered into ceramic shards with water pooling around it. Mrs. Nagamura was curled into a ball, hands covering her head while her husband’s chair had been tipped over, leaving him lying on his back, facing the ceiling.

“Huh, it looks like Mrs. Gokuhara’s necklace is missing,” Yoshiko commented.

“I knew it!” Mr. Nagamura shouted, leaping to his feet. He paced back and forth between the tables, leaning into the partygoers’ personal space and scrutinizing each of their expressions. “Alright, which one of you bastards did it?”

That was a bit of an extreme way to treat most likely innocent people.

Shuichi’s phone buzzed. It was his uncle again.

_Uncle: Mr. Gokuhara isn’t wearing his ring anymore. Did you see him meeting with anyone when he left the room?_

Shuichi had. He started to type out a reply when something clicked in his mind.

Mr. Gokuhara hadn’t taken off his ring the entire time that Shuichi had been tailing him, and it wouldn’t have made sense for him to take it off after heading back to the ballroom, where his wife--already having her suspicions--would surely notice such a thing. Not to mention, The Crowned Horse had gone to the trouble of knocking Mr. Gokuhara onto the ground, despite supposedly going after only his wife’s necklace. That was a lot of wasted time and effort in what must have been a swift operation. Why go to the trouble? 

Maybe it had been to steal the ring?

Yoshiko clutched at her head and groaned.

“Miss Yoshiko, are you alright?” Shuichi asked.

“Yeah, it’s just a dizzy spell. It’ll pass. Just…” Yoshiko’s arms fell to her sides, and her head lolled forward. Before Shuichi could react, she slid sideways, toppling out of her chair and onto the floor.

“Little Miss!” Tai crouched down and scooped her into his arms. Her body flopped limply in his grasp.

“Is she--”

“She’ll be fine. It just looks like she fainted,” Tai said. “Still, she needs to get home and rest. Mr. Gonta, could you tell your father that we’re sorry, but we really must leave early.”

“Yes, Gonta can do that.”

Tai gave them both a nod and turned toward the door when--

“Hold it! Where do you think you’re going?” Mr. Nagamura threw himself in front of Tai, arms outstretched, as if his wiry frame could possibly stop Yoshiko’s stout bodyguard in his tracks.

“I’m taking the Little Miss home. She’s sick.”

“You can’t do that. Mrs. Gokuhara’s necklace was just stolen. Everyone in this room is a suspect, including you and that girl!”

Mr. Nagamura had a lot of courage, but Shuichi couldn’t necessarily say the same about his smarts, given that he was standing in the way of a single man with enough mass to completely bowl him over, like a bowling ball knocking over an especially light pin.

“Are you kidding me? Here. Look.” Tai jerked his head to a different table. “Your culprit’s right there. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’re leaving.”

Every head in the ballroom turned to where Tai had indicated. Sure enough, Mrs. Gokuhara’s necklace glittered, lying half-exposed within a man’s briefcase and conspicuously in view of the entire ballroom.

“Wait! I don’t know what you’re talking about! Whatever you think I’ve done, I didn’t do it! I’ve just been sitting at this table all evening, honest!” The man started protesting, but Mr. Nagamura had already marched over to him and cuffed their arms together.

“Aha! I’ve finally caught you, Crowned Horse!” Mr. Nagamura gave the man a smug grin, while the man tugged at their handcuffs, to no avail.

That seemed too easy. Hadn’t this guy stolen dozens of priceless artifacts? Why would he make a simple mistake like leaving his stolen goods out in the open?

None of this felt right to Shuichi. He grabbed the brim of his hat, but, before he could pull it down, his gaze met the handcuffed man’s eyes. He was scanning the entire ballroom, frantically searching for someone to take pity on him.

It was bad enough to have to endure the hateful glare of a criminal, but seeing that terrified look on an innocent man was even worse. He couldn’t let this continue.

Shuichi made his way over to Mr. Nagamura and the handcuffed man. He wasted no time in scouring the man’s briefcase. Sure enough, Mr. Gokuhara’s ring wasn’t there.

“Mr. Nagamura, I think you have the wrong man,” Shuichi said.

“Eh? What makes you say that?”

“Just a hunch.” 

“I basically caught him red-handed. You got any better evidence, kid, or do you just want to play wannabe detective?”

“I…” Tai and Yoshiko had almost reached the door. Shuichi hated to do it, but they _were_ potential suspects. And, given the convenient timing of their departure, they were the most suspicious of anyone present. It would be best to confirm that they were innocent before letting them leave.

“Follow me,” Shuichi told Mr. Nagamura. He walked up to Tai and tugged on his sleeve. “Excuse me, I just have a couple more questions before you go.”

“Ugh, fine. But make it quick,” Tai said.

“O-of course. Could you take off your jacket? And your shoes? And turn your pockets inside out?”

“Are you seriously searching me? You’ve already got your culprit, and I’ve got a sick young lady to take care of, so how about you buzz off.” Tai tried to elbow past Shuichi, but Shuichi only took a couple steps backward, keeping himself in Tai’s path.

Curled in Tai’s arms, Yoshiko still looked faint, but she had regained enough of her strength to sit up somewhat. She nuzzled her face into Tai’s chest. Standing so close to her, with strong lights beaming down on them, the lumps on her dress where its frills bulged ever-so-innocuously outward were obvious.

“Actually, I don’t think I’ll need to search you,” Shuichi said. “Could I check Miss Yoshiko, though? It won’t take more than ten seconds. If I don’t find anything, I’ll help you get her down to the lobby afterwards.”

“Why should--”

But Shuichi wasn’t listening. He pinched one of the dress’s frills and lifted it, praying that whatever she had hidden wasn’t beneath her skirt itself.

Shuichi had just enough time to glimpse Mr. Gokuhara’s distinctive ruby-and-gold ring dangling from a hidden strip of pink fabric. Then, his field of vision was filled with one of Yoshiko’s polished flats flying toward his face. 

The heavy shoe slammed into Shuichi’s forehead with a dull _thud_, and Shuichi was kneeling on the ground, clutching his throbbing skull as the world tilted around him. Dimly, he registered two feet hitting the ground in front of him, and a distinctly male voice called out, “Plan B! Run for it, Tai!”

By the time Shuichi had regained his bearings enough to stand up, The Crowned Horse and his accomplice had already reached the other side of the ballroom. “Yoshiko” hoisted a vase high above his head and rammed it into the window, shattering it into a spiderweb of glass shards that fell away, leaving an escape route wide open.

But, while his accomplice wasted no time in grappling away from the scene, The Crowned Horse hesitated. He turned around, and Shuichi jerked the bill of his cap down, obscuring his vision. He didn’t need to see another criminal’s hate-filled eyes.

“Nee-heehee, this was fun! I hope I’ll see you soon, Mister Detective!”

A laugh. Shuichi hadn’t been expecting that. Against his better judgment, he peered out from under the brim of his hat.

The Crowned Horse stared right at him, a broad grin spreading across his face and childish glee sparkling in his eyes.

The mix of honest admiration and unashamed joy--all directed squarely at Shuichi--made his breath catch in his throat. And, if the heat creeping up his cheeks was any indication, his face had turned a bright shade of pink.

The Crowned Horse waved goodbye. And yet, as the thief leapt out the window, Shuichi couldn’t deny the warmth sparking within his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Addendum to fun fact: “Kokichi” is written 小吉. So the name “Yoshiko” (吉小) is just Kokichi with the kanji reversed and 吉, “luck” pronounced differently.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The phrase “no rest for the wicked” originates from a misquotation of The Bible, specifically the verses Isaiah 48:22 and Isaiah 57:21 which both say “There is no **peace**...for the wicked.”

“Goddamn you, Crowned Horse!” Mr. Nagamura lunged forward, dragging the poor, framed bystander with him by their cuffed-together wrists. But, by the time he reached the shattered window, he was too late. The Crowned Horse had vanished into the night.

Shuichi tugged the brim of his hat down. The real culprit had been discovered, and the innocent man would go free. The rest wasn’t any of his business, so he should just keep to himself and--

“Hey.” Mr. Nagamura’s dress shoes stepped into view, and his handcuffs clinked as he stowed them in his back pocket, shooing the now-uncuffed “culprit” away. “Kid, how did you know who the thief was?”

“Ah, that was just a hunch. I really didn’t--”

“You seemed real confident for ‘just a hunch.’”

Shuichi’s hands clenched, and he prayed that Mr. Nagamura would decide that he wasn’t interesting enough to warrant talking to. “O-oh, I’m just...a confident person,” Shuichi lied.

“That’s obviously bullshit. You _knew_ ‘Yoshiko’ was the real culprit. How?”

“Ah...well…” Before Shuichi could formulate a response, he felt his uncle’s warm, heavy hand rest on his shoulder. Thank god. A way to escape Mr. Nagamura’s interrogation.

“Pardon my nephew. He’s a bit shy. And who are you, exactly?”

“I’m Inspector Nagamura, and I’m the detective on The Crowned Horse’s case. Your nephew here, he identified the thief minutes after he made his move. I want to know how he did it.”

“That’s my boy for you!” Shuichi’s uncle patted him on the back so hard that he knocked Shuichi’s hat off. Shuichi scrambled to grab it and put it back on as his uncle continued. “He’s very smart. Been working for my private eye firm for, oh, about ten years now, I’d say. I’m not surprised he figured out the thief’s plans so quickly. It certainly fits with his good track record.”

“Oh?”

“He’s handled dozens of cases on his own, and all with the professional rigor you’d expect of someone twice his age.”

Shuichi had just been doing the jobs his uncle had assigned him. It wasn’t that impressive.

“He even managed to solve a murder case all on his own--and he did it well before the police had their suspects figured out!”

Shuichi had helped to send a good man to jail. That was why their family had to leave their hometown far behind and move into a tiny apartment. It wasn’t something to be proud of. 

“Well then, it sounds like he’d make a wonderful addition to the detective force!”

What?

“I mean, just from seeing him in action today, it’s obvious that your nephew is bright, decisive, and quick on his feet. That’s exactly what we’ll need if we want to catch The Crowned Horse.”

“I don’t think--” Shuichi began, but his uncle cut him off.

“That’s a wonderful suggestion! You know, for the longest time, I’ve thought that Shuichi could benefit from solving more challenging cases. Working with the police would be perfect for him!”

No! Shuichi was barely good enough to do private detective work. Having to work with the police, bringing in criminals, sending them to jail--it all sounded so similar to the murder case that the mere thought made nausea swirl in Shuichi’s stomach.

“But, I’m sorry to say that we really must be going,” Shuichi’s uncle said. “He took quite the kick to the head, and it’d be best if he headed home and got some rest. It’s been a long day. But I _will_ be in touch with you, Mr. Nagamura. You can count on it.”

Shuichi took that as their cue to leave, and he followed behind his uncle as they exited the ballroom.

As soon as they were alone, Shuichi’s uncle asked, “Your head, how badly does it hurt?”

“Ah, it’s a little sore, but I’ll be fine.”

“I see…” Silence filled the air, neither of them daring to mention the elephant in the room. 

After a moment, Shuichi gathered together enough courage to speak. “Why do you want me to work with the police?”

“Shuichi, listen, I know you’re still shaken from the murder case, but you could learn a lot from working with a police detective.”

“But--”

“You won’t have to do any more murder cases, don’t worry. Just...try it for a month, okay? I know it’d be a good experience for you. At the very least, it’d give you something better to do than wallow in your room all day.”

“What about school? I’ll have to start soon, and--”

“We’ll make it work.”

“But I’m really not a good enough detective for--”

“All the more reason for you to learn a new skillset. Now one more peep out of you, and I won’t be saying this as a suggestion from an uncle to his nephew, but as an order from a boss to his employee.”

Shuichi heaved a sigh. For whatever reason, his uncle had set his mind on this, and there was no talking him out of it.

“Alright. I’ll do it. Just for one month,” Shuichi said.

\------ 

“We’re hoooooome!” Kokichi announced. His voice echoed off the mall’s concrete walls. With only dim moonlight filtering through the skylights, heavy shadows blanketed the once-lively stores, turning them into empty, yawning caverns. Nothing moved. Somewhere on the upper floors, a pigeon cooed.

Just ten delinquents, all sharing a giant, abandoned shopping mall. With so much space and so few people, their home often felt like a ghost town.

“It doesn’t seem like anyone’s here,” Tai observed.

“Aww. That’s a shame. I wanted everyone to celebrate another heist well done.” Kokichi shrugged. “Well, I guess I can tell them all later. C’mon, let’s head to the strategy room and start planning the next one!”

“Already? I was hoping to take a nap...”

“Yes, already. You can’t be taking a nap now! Didn’t anyone tell you that ‘there’s no rest for the wicked?’ We can’t be slacking when there’s mischief to do!” That was all true, but what Kokichi didn’t mention was his ulterior motive for wanting to get back to thievery so soon. Even after making his daring escape and returning to the safety of DICE’s headquarters, his chest still felt like someone had filled it with bubbles. And it had all started when he’d met That Boy with the Emo Hat back at the party. Or, more accurately, when he’d kicked him in the head. 

At first, Kokichi had pegged Emo Hat as just another gullible idiot. Same as all the others at that party. But it hadn’t taken him more than a minute to not only figure out that Kokichi was the culprit, but where he’d hidden the stolen ring as well! He was kind-hearted, he was smart, and he had enough deductive skills to see through Kokichi’s plans. He was the perfect rival for a mysterious phantom thief!

That was why Kokichi was in such a hurry to get started on his next heist. Maybe he’d run into Emo Hat again. Sure, the guy hadn’t seemed like he was working with the police, but maybe he had been undercover. Maybe he had been investigating the Gokuharas. Or maybe he was assigned to Kokchi’s case!

Maybe at that moment, he was thinking about Kokchi, just like Kokichi was thinking about him.

Those were lies. More wishful thinking than anything else. But that was fine. Kokichi _was_ a liar, after all. He could lie to himself if it put a spring in his step and gave renewed enthusiasm to his scheming.

As they made their way to the strategy room, Tai asked, “So, why did you go after that ring but not the necklace? That necklace was a unique piece of jewelry, but that wedding ring’s, well, just a wedding ring.”

“Tai! How could you? A wedding ring isn’t just some trinket. It’s a symbol of lifelong love and commitment. While it might not be worth millions at auction, its sentimental value is _priceless_...That’s why we’ll be rolling in cash once we ransom it back to Mr. Gokuhara!”

“That seems like kind of a dick move.”

“Well, how _else_ do you expect to fund Soup Day? Money doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”

“That’s fair.”

“Besides, I’ve stolen dozens of famous gemstones already. If I stole _another_ one, I’d just be doing the same old stuff I’ve always done. That wouldn’t be fun at all!”

They rounded a corner, and the strategy room came into view. It had once been a movie theater, with lines of desks for buying tickets, shelves displaying rows and rows of candy, and a popcorn machine capable of feeding dozens of people at once. But it had been years since the place had seen any real use. Now, the lights flickered, sputtering and hissing. The shelves, once proudly showcasing tasty treats, only held a coat of dust. And, despite DICE’s best efforts to clean the ancient popcorn machine, it had resisted their efforts so thoroughly that it was declared a danger to human health and roped off with yellow tape.

Kokichi and Tai gave the popcorn machine a wide berth as they stepped into the theater itself. The room’s only light came from the screen of black-and-white static projected onto the far wall. Someone must have left the projector on after DICE’s last movie night. 

While a normal theater tended to be a bit claustrophobic, with dozens of seats stacked right next to one another, DICE had done away with all that. They’d ripped out the rows of tattered seats and replaced them with a loose collection of threadbare sofas, all arranged in a rough semicircle near the back of the theater. At the front of the theater, hidden to the side where it wouldn’t block the screen, was a pile of foam and torn-up red fabric. While cleaning out the theater, DICE had tossed all the soft pieces of the old seats into a pile, and they’d discovered that it was such a comfy place to take a nap, they’d voted to leave it where it was.

“Hey, Boss, doesn’t this seem a little creepy to you?”

“What do you mean?” Kokichi said, grabbing a whiteboard from beside the foam pile and rolling it to the front and center of the room.

“The static...the dark...it all seems like something you’d see in a horror movie.” Tai jerked his head side to side. “I almost feel like a ghost might pop out.”

Kokichi laughed. “Really? Come on, Tai. It’s gonna take more than that to scare a veteran prankster like--”

“Boo!”

A scream bubbled up in Kokichi’s throat, but he managed to bite down on it before it escaped his mouth. Forcing his face into a neutral expression, he whirled around and came face-to-face with a masked figure hovering in midair.

No, that was wrong. It wasn’t hovering. In reality, the figure had hoops of thick rope coiled around his arms and legs, reaching up to the ceiling where they wrapped around exposed support beams. With his shoulders hunched over, the DICE member clutched at his stomach, his entire body trembling with subdued chuckles. 

“Good one, Ishiaki,” Tai said. 

“Aww, thanks,” Ishiaki rubbed at the back of his head, right beneath his cone of gelled, yellow-dyed hair. He pushed his stone-like mask aside, revealing eyes that twinkled with the mischief all DICE members possessed. “Looks like I managed to get one up on you, huh, _Supreme Leader._” He said Kokichi’s title with a teasing note in his voice, but Kokichi decided to let it slide.

“Pfft, no. I just pretended to be scared so you’d be satisfied with your trick!” Kokichi said.

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“That was a lie, by the way.”

Ishiaki pressed a finger to his chin and scrunched up his eyebrows. “Hang on. If what you just said was a lie, and what you said earlier was a lie--”

“Stop thinking so hard. You’re going to hurt yourself,” Kokichi said.

“Shut up. So, if everything you say is a lie…” 

Kokichi rolled his eyes. “Ishiaki, since you apparently have a couple spare brain cells bouncing around up there, why don’t you help me brainstorm my next plan?”

Ishiaki scowled, but he stopped making his concentrated expression. “Alright. What are you stealing this time?”

“A car!”

Ishiaki’s eyes flew wide, and he backpedaled in midair, arms flailing as if he could crawl away from Kokichi despite being tethered to the ceiling. “No! Nope. Nuh-uh. Horrible, terrible, awful plan. You are _not_ driving! Not now. Not in a million years. Never again.”

“Aww, come on. I have a license now. The government thinks I’m a good driver, so why don’t you?”

“That’s a complete and utter lie! You can’t drive! And even if you had a piece of paper that says you could, you’d still kill us all!”

“No one died last time.”

“I saw my life flash in front of me!”

“I agree with Ishiaki.” Tai’s muffled voice emanated from within the foam pile. His lower body--what wasn’t buried under foam, anyways--was curled into a ball, resting comfortably in the pile of fluff. He must have wandered off to take a nap while Kokichi was distracted. The slacker. 

“Ishiaki was really shaken up that time you took him for a drive,” Tai continued. “When he came back, he was pale as a ghost. He kept trembling, and hugging me, and telling me he loved me--”

“I don’t remember that part. I don’t think that actually happened. You must be misremembering,” Ishiaki said, voice suddenly anxious.

_Liar._

Kokichi decided to play along. “Yeah, Ishiaki didn’t do any of that. He wasn't scared at all   
because I’m an _amazing_ driver. I can totally handle stealing a car, no problem!”

“I’m vetoing that plan.”

“Seconded. Vetoed.”

Kokichi pouted, and he sniffled at the other two DICE members, tears clouding his vision. “I can’t believe you guys would do this to me! It’s been my dream, ever since I was an _infant_, to steal a fancy car. But you two just keep insulting me and shooting down my lifelong goals! Don’t you feel any shame, destroying a little boy’s dreams like that?”

“Can’t say I feel guilty.”

“Yeah, we’re doing the public a service by keeping you off the road.”

Time to bring in the real waterworks. “Wahhhh! You’re both so mean!” Kokichi shouted. The tears cascaded down his face. Ishiaki and Tai exchanged a look.

“I-it’s okay, though,” Kokichi said, drying his eyes with his sleeve. “I’ll forgive you guys on one condition: You have to do me a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Ishiaki asked.

“You’ll have to drive the stolen car! After all, driving is grunt work, and I, an evil supreme leader, can’t stoop to that level. That’s why I need you guys to do that job for me!”

“You just spent the last five minutes arguing that--” Ishiaki shook his head. “You know what, fine. I’ll drive. One condition though.”

“Hmm, what is it?”

“Once we steal the car, I chose what radio station we listen to.”

“Deal!” Kokichi turned back to the whiteboard. Time to start plotting the finer details of his plan.

And if he spent a little more time designing his plans around Detective Emo Hat than he should have, well, who could blame him? 

Having a good rival was half the fun of being a phantom thief, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does everyone think of the DICE characters and their interactions? Do you want more of them? Less of them? Do you guys like what they contribute to the story, or do you think it’d be better to minimize their impact/screentime? Lemme know!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that the rating’s changed. Well, this fanfic is now rated “M,” short for “Miu Iruma shows up.”
> 
> Also, it is surprisingly hard to come up with enough swear words, insults, and sexual innuendos to fill an entire chapter, even when Miu is (mostly) not a POV character.
> 
> Fun Fact: [”Yakety Sax”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZnHmskwqCCQ) is a song commonly associated with humorous chase scenes, and it has been referenced/parodied by many shows since its creation in 1963.
> 
> It is also the first search result if you type “wacky chase scene music” into google.

Fuck Monday mornings.

Miu trudged into the auto repair shop, gnashing her teeth. Despite the sun not being up, she was twenty minutes late, _and_ she’d had to cut her morning jerk-off session short just to catch the train.

But there was a silver lining to it all: the pink, convertible Ferrari, dropped off by some rich geezer with instructions to “fix that weird ticking noise from the engine” and “make it look as manly as possible.”

The mechanical issues had been no trouble for the gorgeous girl genius, and, without an upper limit on how much she could spend on modifications, she had free reign to add whatever cool features she wanted. Blue chrome wrapping...tinted windows...a decal of gigantic tits...

Her supervisor had vetoed that last one. It wasn’t “professional,” he’d said.

Fuck that noise. “Professional” meant catering to the customer’s wants, and the customer wanted “manly.” Nothing was more manly than having a massive pair of honkers on your car! But noooooo. The car had to be “not an affront to human decency” and “legal to display in public.”

Psh, what did he know, anyways?

But, upon seeing the blue, chrome surface of her newest repair job, Miu found that she couldn’t stay mad. The sleek design, the dark, mysterious windows, the knowledge that each old, faulty component had been cleaned, repaired or replaced--it was almost enough to make her swoon.

She sprawled across the Ferrari's hood, a blush rising to her cheeks as she pressed her body against the machine. “Did’ya miss me?” she cooed.

The Ferrari didn’t respond, but she imagined that, if it could have, it would have told her how _hard_ it had been to spend the weekend without her, how _long_ it had been waiting for her to wipe away the _thick_ grease coating its interior parts, how _desperate_ it was for Miu to remove all its afflictions.

She couldn’t leave it waiting, now could she?

As she went to find her gloves, a piece of paper fluttered off the Ferrari's hood and landed near her feet. She picked it up, noting its checkered border and regal horse emblem. When she recognized it for what it was, her enthusiasm evaporated.

Oh.

_Fuck_ Monday mornings.

\------

“You don’t need to be so nervous. This whole interview is just a formality.”

“Ah, sorry.” Shuichi sat across from Mr. Nagamura. His desk--sporting a nameplate, haphazard piles of police reports, and a corded telephone--rested between them. Through the office’s open window, Shuichi could hear the distant clattering of a train racing along its tracks. Shuichi wished that he could be on that train. He wished that he could be home. He wished that he could be _anywhere_ else, except interviewing to become a police detective.

“So, I have a list of questions here,” Mr. Nagamura said, snapping Shuichi out of his fantasy. “Since I’ve seen you in action, your answers basically don’t matter--unless you say something _really_ weird. Anyways, let’s get started. Question 1: What’s your greatest weakness?”

That he couldn’t look people in the eyes without feeling sick. That using what little investigative skills he had only resulted in his family being ostracized. That he didn’t actually _want_ to do detective work anymore.

Shuichi couldn’t say any of those. He’d promised his uncle that he’d try out being a police detective. Just for one month.

“I’d say that my greatest weakness is that I’m new to being a police detective. I’ve only done private eye work up until this point.”

“Hmm. Right. There’s different procedure here, that’s for sure. Don’t worry, you’ll get a feel for most of it, and I can teach you the rest. Question 2: What’s your greatest strength?”

...Did Shuichi even have a strength? He was just an apprentice detective, but both his uncle and Mr. Nagamura seemed to think that he had a lot of investigative skills. Maybe he could say that? Would it be believable?

Shuichi opened his mouth, but he was saved from speaking when the phone rang. Mr. Nagamura picked it up.

“Hello. Really? You sure it’s him? A Ferrari? How’s he going to hide that in a skirt? Right. Right. I’m on my way.” Mr. Nagamura stood up, grabbing his briefcase, fedora, and car keys. “Come on, Saihara, we have a lead!”

“Already? Don’t we need to finish the interview?”

“Like I said, it was just a formality. Besides, we’ve got more important stuff to do. Let’s go!”

\------

** Shinmei Industries High School - Auto Repair Shop **

Shuichi craned his neck up at the black-and-white sign hanging above the warehouse’s garage door. He could understand why a thief might steal a fancy car, but why choose a broken down Ferrari that was being repaired by high schoolers?

With a loud _creeeeaaaaak_, the garage door rose into the air, revealing a scowling young woman wearing a sailor-style uniform.

“You’ve got a lotta ass showing up this late,” she said. “You were supposed to be here half a fuckin’ hour ago, and here ya are, struttin’ up to me all half-cocked! God, I was hoping you’d take some initiative, but I guess that was setting the bar a bit too high for you dumbasses, huh?” 

“Ah…” Shuichi said. “We’re sorry about that. We came as soon as we heard. It just took a while for--”

“Save your excuses, limp-dicks. Get in here and get to work.”

Shuichi and Mr. Nagamura exchanged a glance. Then, they stepped into the shop.

Their footsteps echoed off the concrete floor. One half of the warehouse was filled wall-to-wall with dozens of cars and car lifts. The other held rows of dented, grimy workbenches, all showcasing a cluttered assortment of wrenches, pliers, and bottles of colorful liquids. Despite the signs of work, the warehouse felt lifeless. With so many cars in need of repair, shouldn’t there have been more than just one woman at work? 

“Name’s Miu Iruma, by the way,” the scowling woman said. “The two other guys who were supposed to be here today are “out sick”--probably just an excuse to stay home and jack off...lucky bastards. Plus, my boss saw that thief’s card and decided to go have a meltdown in his office like the piss-brain he is, so that makes me the de facto manager of this fine establishment! For today, at least.”

“I...see. Is this part of the high school?”

“Yeah, the school lets ya go the trade route and get an apprenticeship as a mechanic, or you can choose to take a buncha’ classes--if you’re a fuckin’ nerd, that is.” Miu pointed to a shiny, blue sports car. “Anyways, I found the card on that one’s hood. Here.” She handed a laminated card to Shuichi, who held it by its edges. Sure enough, it had The Crowned Horse’s distinctive insignia on it. It also had a thick pattern of fingerprints--most likely Miu’s--covering its surface. Contaminated evidence. Not worth much as a clue.

“Mr. Nagamura, how long does The Crowned Horse wait to make a move after sending his card?”

“Usually hours, sometimes days. Can be up to a week.”

The solution seemed obvious. Just stake out the shop until The Crowned Horse showed up. If Shuichi did that, then The Crowned Horse would be caught. 

He’d be yet another criminal who’d look at Shuichi with hate-filled eyes.

But would capturing him really be so bad? When he’d looked into The Crowned Horse’s eyes, he hadn’t felt fear or guilt. No, he’d felt...something else.

Shuichi shoved the memory down. There was no guarantee that the thief’s eyes would be so joyful the next time Shuichi saw him--especially if Shuichi were the one arresting him.

“If The Crowned Horse might not show up for an entire week, then staking out this shop would be pretty impractical. Any ideas on how else we might catch him?” Shuichi said.

Mr. Nagamura shook his head. “C’mon. Let’s check out that Ferrari. We might find another clue.”

Mr. Nagamura circled the Ferrari’s exterior while Shuichi bent over the car’s open roof to peer inside. The car had leather seats, a built-in GPS, and video screens in every headrest. Shuichi wouldn’t have been surprised if the Ferrari was the most expensive car in the shop.

“Outta my way, dipshit!” Miu elbowed Shuichi in the ribs, shoving past him in her haste to get to the car. She carried a ball of tangled wires and small cameras which she placed between the two back seats.

“What is that?” Shuichi said, pointing to the ball.

“Oh, this? It’s a camera that can record in three-hundred-and-sixty degrees! Built it myself, actually.”

Was it some sort of dashcam-like contraption? Shuichi knew that those could be useful for gathering evidence--he’d even used dashcam footage to prove an infidelity case. But then...“Why’s it inside the car? Wouldn’t it be more useful somewhere it could see the street?” 

“Okay, so picture this,” Miu said. “Imagine that you’re stuck in traffic, and you decide to jack off. And, while you’re going at it, you remember that you’ve got a _gorgeous_ body. Now, you could keep it to yourself--like some sorta’ prude--or you could share your jerk-off session with the entire world! And to do that, you’d want an awesome camera, which is where this baby right here comes in handy!” Miu patted the camera ball. “Since it records in three-hundred-sixty-degrees, that means the video feed is VR-compatible. It’s the cutting edge of camgirl technology!” 

“I...what!? Why would someone need something like that in their car!?”

“To livestream their jerk-off sessions. Duh-doy! Weren’t you payin’ attention at all?”

Shuichi didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Anyways, that was my last good idea for upgrading this car, so I’m gonna go huff a buncha chemicals to get all the neurons firing again,” Miu said, walking over to the nearest workbench and scooping bottles of colorful liquid into her arms. “It’s fifty-fifty whether I wind up in the hospital for a week or trip my fuckin’ balls off, but either way I’m gonna have a hell of a time! Don’t let anyone steal that car while I’m busy!” With that, Miu vanished into one of the warehouse’s offices.

The moment Miu shut the door behind her, a car’s engine started revving. It wasn’t the Ferrari, though. It was a rusted, banged-up truck. 

Mr. Nagamura raced to the car, and Shuichi followed after. But, when they peered through the windows, no one was inside. In fact, the only thing in the car was a recording device, playing the sound of an engine starting up. A distraction. 

By the time Shuichi had realized his mistake, another engine started revving. Shuichi whirled around just in time to see the blue Ferrari racing out of the shop.

\------

“Nee-heeheeheehee! Nee-heeheeheehee! Nee-hee--”

“Kokichi, are you alright? I know you like stealing stuff, but this seems a little excessive....” Ishiaki said. He shot Kokichi a concerned look but quickly returned his gaze to the road. 

With the engine roaring, the afternoon sun warming his face, the wind tousling his hair--it all contributed to Kokichi’s elation at a heist well done. But, more than that, there was one thing filling Kokichi’s chest with enough giddiness to leave him laughing like a madman:

“Detective Emo Hat’s here! He actually showed up!”

“Who?”

Kokichi jerked his finger to the rearview mirror. Trailing behind them in a beat-up police car was Detective Emo Hat! Also that incompetent Inspector-what’s-his-face. Actually, the incompetent inspector was driving. Detective Emo Hat had his head down, hunched over a phone. Why…?

Oh. They were far away from the police station. They wouldn’t know the roads. The incompetent inspector had probably put Emo Hat on navigation duty.

That wouldn’t do. Detective Emo Hat’s eyes needed to be on Kokichi!

Well, if stealing a fancy sports car wasn’t flashy enough to earn the detective’s attention, then Kokichi needed to go a step further! With a flourish, he unfurled his sparkling, purple cape, letting it flutter in the car’s wake.

That got Detective Emo Hat’s attention. He stared at Kokichi with admiration painted on his face, mouth hanging ever-so-slightly ajar. Perfect.

Kokichi shot the detective a grin. His smug expression would make the detective angry, letting Kokichi slip under his skin and antagonize him to no end. That anger, that begrudging respect, it would only deepen the detective’s obsession with him. Soon, the detective’s eyes would be on Kokichi--and _only_ on Kokichi.

Except that didn’t happen. Instead, a blush crept up the detective’s cheeks, and something close to affection glimmered in his eyes.

That...wasn’t right. At all.

For some reason, the expression on the detective’s face made Kokichi’s stomach curl. He turned around so that he wouldn’t have to see it.

Detective Emo Hat wasn’t angry. Kokichi needed to try harder.

Kokichi clambered over his seat, settling himself into the back of the car where he could more easily see Detective Emo hat. Then, he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Hey, _losers_!”

Detective Emo Hat’s eyebrows furrowed into a glare. Good. 

“You’re reaaaaally bad at your jobs! I mean, you guys let me steal this car right out from under your noses! You’re gonna need to try harder, or I might get bored of our little game!” Although Kokichi addressed both detectives, his gaze was only on Emo Hat.

And...he didn’t look angry anymore. He looked hurt.

Maybe it’d be better not to go there in the future.

“Catch me if you can!” Kokichi called, slipping back into the front seat. Insults weren’t working. He needed a better way to taunt Emo Hat. 

The car swerved around a corner, and a can of grape soda thumped against his foot. An idea popping into his mind, Kokichi scooped up the can, propped his feet up against the dashboard, and reclined in his chair, cracking the can open with a hiss of escaping carbonation. His motions had a calculated casualness to them. Like the detective didn’t matter to him. Like their chase didn’t have his veins humming with the thrill of adrenaline. Like he didn’t even _care_ that the law was hot on his tail. His nonchalance itself would be a taunt.

Kokichi reached for the car’s stereo, but Ishiaki slapped his hand away. 

“Ishiaki!” Kokichi pouted.

“We had a deal, remember? I do the ‘grunt work,’ so I get to choose the radio station.”

Fine. Whatever Ishiaki picked couldn’t be that--

What came out of the stereo was one-half something you might hear at a carnival, one-half something you might hear at a circus, and wholly ridiculous.

“What the hell is this?” Kokichi said. 

“Wacky chase scene music.”

Under normal circumstances, it would have been the perfect zany music for DICE’s antics. But Kokichi needed to look cool and laid-back if he wanted to taunt Emo Hat, and the ridiculous song wasn’t helping. At all.

He reached for the stereo once again, but Ishiaki floored the gas and cranked the steering wheel, slamming Kokichi into the padding of his seat and sending the car screeching around a turn.

The detectives’ car rounded the corner after them, tires squealing, chassis tilting like it might flip over. Even after all four of the car’s wheels landed back on the ground, Emo Hat braced against the car’s walls, face pale. Wow! Even with a maneuver like that, they still hadn’t lost their pursuers. 

“Ishiaki, let’s take the back roads. See if we can't shake them.”

“Eh? I thought the plan was to--”

“But look how determined they are to catch us! C’mon, humoring them will totally make our game of cat-and-mouse more fun!”

Ishiaki chuckled. “Hey, you’re the boss.” With that, they swerved onto a narrow alleyway. After a few deft twists and turns, Kokichi whirled around, expecting to see the detectives still hot on his tail.

But no one was there.

\------

“Dammit! Where did they go?” Mr. Nagamura shouted. 

“I-I...” Shuichi stared down at the map in his trembling hand. The pattern of roads and alleyways was easy to see through. There was only one route The Crowned Horse would have taken. 

But if Shuichi chased after The Crowned Horse, if he _caught_ The Crowned Horse, then the thief’s joyous eyes might fill with hatred.

At the thought, Shuichi’s veins filled with ice. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. He could see his quarry’s path right there in front of him.

And yet, what came out of his mouth...

“I...I don’t know where they went.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Opinions on the Miu POV? Would you guys like more short, introductory POVs for the side characters, or do you think they detract from the overall Shuichi/Kokichi storyline? Lemme know!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Muscle memory is stored differently than most other types of memory. Because of this, many people who suffer from amnesia will still retain their motor skills. An example of this is [Clive Wearing](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clive_Wearing), a pianist who can practice and get better at specific musical pieces, despite suffering brain damage that prevents him from consciously remembering anything for more than 30 seconds.

What a pathetic detective he was.

Shuichi solved most of his cases through sheer luck. His investigative skills were mediocre at best, and, in the rare instances they were enough to uncover a criminal, Shuichi didn’t even have the courage to give chase. The phone in his hand--still open to a map of the city’s alleyways--was proof of that, staring him right in the face.

The Crowned Horse had escaped, and it had been Shuichi’s fault.

The detectives’ car rolled up to the auto repair shop, and Miu stomped over to them.

“Hey, dick-wads! What’re ya out cruising around for? Isn’t some thief gonna come and steal a car from my shop? Shouldn’t you pissants be trying to fuckin’ stop him?”

Miu didn’t know. Maybe she’d been too busy getting high in the back room to notice The Crowned Horse making off with one of her vehicles.

“Miss Iruma--” Shuichi began, but she shouted over him.

“You’re both lucky that the damn car’s still here! Otherwise, I woulda called your bosses and had them make an example out of both your asses.”

Still...there? Shuichi poked his head around Miu, peering inside the auto repair shop. Sure enough, the blue Ferrari was exactly where it had been before The Crowned Horse had stolen it.

What? Why go to the trouble of stealing a car if you weren’t even going to keep it?

Shuichi hurried over to the Ferrari, cords of nervousness tightening around his chest, relaxing only when he saw that no one was inside. A palm pressed to the car’s hood told him that the engine was warm. The Crowned Horse had been there minutes before. 

“Huh, what were you using the three-sixty-degree camera for?” Miu was at his side, peering into the car’s window.

“I wasn’t…”

“Don’t try to fuck with me. The little light thingy’s on. That means it’s recording.” Miu gave Shuichi a side-eyed glance. “Oh, I get it.”

“You...do?”

“Yeah, you obviously snuck off to crank one out while your boss wasn’t looking, and you couldn’t resist trying out my invention while you were at it!”

“N-No! You’ve got it all wrong!” 

“Hah! Looks like you’re less of a prude than I pegged you for. If you want the video, I can download it for ya. I’m pretty sure I’ve got a spare flash drive around here…”

“Miss Iruma, that’s really not--” Shuichi stopped himself. The Crowned Horse must have recorded something with the camera. A taunt, maybe? Whatever the case, Shuichi would likely see his cheerful eyes once again. 

Shuichi tried to ignore how that idea made his chest feel light and his face glow warm.

Miu didn’t.

“Wow, you’re gettin’ real flustered about watchin’ yourself jacking it.” Miu cackled. “Man, I’ve met some ego-tripping narcissists, but you take the fuckin’ cake!”

“That’s not--”

“Follow me. I’ll get everything set up.” Miu strode into the shop’s back room. Hesitantly, Shuichi followed after her.

\------ 

“Here. You’re gonna need this.” Miu shoved a VR headset into Shuichi’s arms. Then, she plopped herself in front of a computer, plugged the camera ball up into it, and set to downloading the video from it.

“Don’t tell my boss about this. He thinks I’m usin’ this computer to keep track of expenditures,” Miu said, minimizing a spreadsheet and revealing...images of herself?

Oh.

_Naked_ images of herself. 

Shuichi turned away, shifting in place and trying to ignore the reaction the images were causing within him.

“Haha, damn! You rubbed one out, what, ten minutes ago? And you’re still getting so horny just from seeing a picture of my tits? Well, they are pretty gorgeous. If you want, I can download some images of myself along with your video.”

“I’m fine...thanks.”

Miu shrugged. “You’re missin’ out on the best opportunity of your lifetime. But whatever. It’s your loss.” She clicked a few buttons and said, “Right. The video should be playing. Just grab the flash drive when you’re done. You can take it home with ya, watch it late at night, upload it to a porn site, whatever you want.”

“...Sure.”

“Well, since huffing AC fluid gave me a bunch of great ideas, I’m gonna go make more modifications to that Ferrari. Have fun!” Cackling, Miu exited the room.

Shuichi slid the headset over his eyes and immediately felt like he’d shrunk. His head hovered in the backseat of the Ferrari, listening to the low rumbling of the engine. His lower body was apparently somewhere within the seats themselves--not that he had anything resembling a body when he looked down. As far as the video feed was concerned, Shuichi was a disembodied head, anchored to one specific point in midair. 

“Hey look! I think I’ve got this thing working!” It was The Crowned Horse’s voice. Try as he might to resist it, now that Shuichi knew The Crowned Horse was a culprit, his investigative instincts forced him to take in every detail of the thief’s appearance: his white, straitjacket-esque clothes, his checkered bandana, even the purple domino mask--the type of flimsy disguise one would expect a manga character to wear.

The inside of the car whirled as The Crowned Horse rotated the camera ball in his hands, inspecting it. Shuichi squeezed his eyes shut, wishing that he’d stood near a chair or desk to steady himself. When he opened them again, the Crowned Horse had leaned so close that his breath had fogged up the camera lenses, making him appear white and fuzzy on the video feed. Even so, his bright, earnest eyes were plainly visible. As much as Shuichi’s instincts were urging him to inspect the rest of the car, he found that he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the thief.

“Hey there, Mister Detective! I’m glad to see you showed up on my case. That car chase was so, sooooo fun!”

Given the thief’s exaggerated tone, he was probably being sarcastic.

“But you didn’t follow after me for long,” The Crowned Horse continued, shoulders sinking and expression drooping into a frown. “I guess my sudden appearance must have caught you off-guard, which is so totally unfair! I get all the time I want to plan my heists, and you barely get any time to react. That’s why my next heist won’t be until 4 pm, four days from now.”

What? Why would he spell out his plans like that? Was it some sort of trick?

“No tricks. No lies. I take my games very seriously. And games aren’t fun if one player doesn’t even get a _chance_ at winning. You’ll get as much time as I do to prepare, thief's honor.”

“What ‘honor?’” the masked man in the driver’s seat said. He must have been an accomplice, and, given their similar white outfits and checkered bandanas, they were likely part of the same gang.

“Ignore him. He’s just my henchman,” The Crowned Horse said. I’m actually the leader of a super-secret evil organization! We’ve got over 9000 members, and, as far as the hierarchy goes, this guy--” The thief jerked his thumb to point at his accomplice “--Is about #8999.”

“Who’s #9000?” the accomplice asked.

“The pigeon that crapped all over my bed last week.”

“That pigeon is a member, too? What a low bar…” 

“And you’ve just barely cleared it!” The Crowned Horse’s voice was cheerful for someone lobbing such harsh insults.

Keys clicked in the ignition, and the rumbling of the car’s engine ground to a halt. From what little Shuichi could see out the windows, they were inside a building--most likely the auto repair shop.

“Nee-heehee, looks like I’ve gotta go!” The Crowned Horse glanced around, almost self-consciously, eyes lingering on his henchman. When the henchman had exited the car, the thief's voice dropped to a whisper. “Having an opponent who doesn’t try their hardest is one of the most boring ways a game can go, so I’m counting on you to make things fun!” The Crowned Horse stared at Shuichi--or, rather, the camera--for a moment. Then he wrapped his arms around it. 

With the thief’s face filling Shuichi’s field of vision, and his arms on either side of Shuichi’s head, Shuichi could almost feel the weight of The Crowned Horse’s body pressed up against him.

The Crowned Horse smirked and pressed a kiss to the screen, right where Shuichi’s nose was. Although there was no associated touch, the gesture made Shuichi’s chest feel light.

No. No more.

Shuichi yanked the headset off, pulling himself back into reality once again. The Crowned Horse vanished, but the pseudo-touch left Shuichi’s breaths coming in gasps, his cheeks glowing hot, and his body experiencing a stronger reaction than even Miu’s photos had provided.

The Crowned Horse had escaped, thanks to Shuichi’s unwillingness to confront him. He’d thought he’d been scared of being caught in another criminal’s gaze. But maybe there had been something else--something other than fear--at play.

Shuichi forced down the mess of emotions swirling within him and shoved the headset back on, this time searching every frame of the video for clues. 

And when the kiss came once again, Shuichi pretended that he didn’t notice.

\------

Kaede would never describe herself as talented. 

Sure, she devoted herself wholeheartedly to playing the piano. It was the first thing she did when she got home from school and the last she did before she went to bed at night. But, no matter how much effort she put in--practicing until her shoulders grew stiff, her wrists grew sore, and her jarring, wrong notes ever-so-slowly filtered out of her songs--she knew she’d never be anyone special. At every major competition she went to, she’d meet pianists who put in a tenth of the effort she did, and they’d place first place, second place, third place…

...Kaede counted herself lucky if she placed fifth.

She’d never play for a king, never go to Juilliard. Those were just fantasies she concocted to encourage herself to put in as much practice as she could.

But practice could only take someone so far. 

So, instead of focusing on awards won or judges impressed, Kaede counted the little victories: Playing pieces for her school’s musicals and watching the audience cheer after every number, spending weeks trying to figure out why her timing was off and shouting with joy when--after hours of working at the offending measures--she finally _got_ it. Even old childhood memories, like her tapping her fingers on a toy piano, playing an off-time version of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” while her twin sister warbled into a plastic microphone--they all brought a smile to her face. As long as her music made someone happy, the long hours of practice were worth it. 

In fact, her long hours of practice were precisely why she stood atop a stage in front of a glossy, black grand piano, wearing her prettiest, ruffled dress. To her right, rows and rows of velvet chairs rose in a semicircle. In four days time, each one of them would be filled. The thought made sweat bead on Kaede’s brow, but she forced her nervousness down.

The orchestra that would be playing there had run a competition among the local high schools--a publicity stunt more than anything else--and the winner would be allowed to play a piece for the audience before the orchestra’s concert.

Much to Kaede’s surprise, she’d won!...second place. But the first place winner had broken her wrist, so the honor had fallen to Kaede, and she was going to make the most of it.

No one expected much of her. She wouldn’t even be the main event. Despite that, she’d practice, practice, practice until she got used to being on the stage. That evening would be her dress rehearsal. When she sat down to play for her audience, she’d be in her element. No playing softly out of self-consciousness. No missing notes due to jittery hands. No repeating the same section five times over, stalling for time because she’d forgotten the next part of the song.

She’d be confident. She’d be secure. 

And, hopefully, the audience members would leave with smiles on their faces, their day a little brighter thanks to her playing.

As she sat down on the piano’s bench, something caught her eye: A card, showcasing a horse with a golden crown atop its head.

This...this had to be a joke...right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Kokichi says he has 10000 members whenever his “evil organization” lie comes up, and, trust me, there’s actual plot/character/worldbuilding reasons for that fact being different in this fanfic. I just can’t tell you them right now because they’re mildly spoiler-y.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: A stereotypical Japanese thief usually looks something like [this](https://www.drwallet.jp/navi/14730). They have a green and white cloth of stolen goods that they carry on their backs (which is roughly analogous to the American thief stereotype who carries bags with dollar signs on them).

The second that Shuichi stepped into the hotel lobby, he felt underdressed. Gold-trimmed frames encased rows of oil paintings, velvet curtains surrounded marble statues, and the floor’s polish shone so clear that Shuichi could see his reflection in it.

Needless to say, Shuichi--wearing his hat and school uniform--looked rather out of place in comparison to the tuxedoed men and dress-wearing women that scurried in and out of the building, carrying instrument cases and music stands into the hotel’s amphitheater.

A blonde-haired girl stepped out of the throng. Her frilly, purple dress flowed behind her, and her high heels clicked against the wooden floor. On her head, her silvery, music-note-shaped hairpins glinted white.

“Excuse me, are you one of the detectives?” the girl asked.

“Er, that’s right. My name is Shuichi Saihara. Are you the person who called about The Crowned Horse a few days ago? Kaede Akamatsu, is that right?”

“Yep! Although…” Kaede looked Shuichi up and down. “...I was expecting someone who’s a little older. When I think ‘detective,’ I don’t think ‘high school student.’”

“Ah, sorry. The senior detective is off chasing a different lead. I’m afraid that it’s just me here.”

“Oh…” Kaede didn’t hide her dissatisfaction, but she perked up quickly. “I’ll bet you’re extra good at your work, though. Most police departments wouldn’t hire a teenager unless they were really accomplished!”

“…No. I’m really just an apprentice detective. I haven’t solved many important cases. Sorry to disappoint.” Shuichi had no idea what he was supposed to be doing. Mr. Nagamura’s only instructions had been a vague, “Just catch the damn thief!” Not anything particularly helpful.

The gleam of an amethyst pendant caught Shuichi’s eye. It hung from a woman’s neck, glittering on its silver chain. It was pretty, but, on its own, it probably wasn’t valuable enough for The Crowned Horse to target it. Although…

Shuichi realized too late that, in looking at the pendant, he had been staring at the woman’s chest. She marched away, glaring at him with hate-filled eyes.

…

No. Shuichi wasn’t going to think about the murder case. He wasn’t going to think about how Daisuke’s eyes had bored into his soul. He _especially_ wasn’t going to think about how good a person Daisuke had been, how justified the murder was.

Was The Crowned Horse justified in his thievery as well?

Despite being tasked with hunting the thief down, Shuichi knew nothing more than his voice and his profile. What was his name? Were there people he cared for? Why did he steal? 

What if he was a good person?

“You look a bit pale. Are you alright?” Kaede asked.

“A-ah...yeah.” Shuichi hadn’t noticed that his hands were trembling. He pulled the brim of his hat down, obscuring his vision. Maybe if he blocked out the world, he could block out his doubts as well.

\------

After he composed himself, Shuichi had Kaede lead him to the hotel’s amphitheater. As they walked onstage, the lights clicked to life one by one, making the auditorium glare with more ferocity than a camera’s flash. Shuichi winced and threw an arm across his eyes.

“Sorry about that!” a man called. His voice came from the back of the auditorium. Behind the dark blotches in Shuichi’s vision, he could make out a windowed room above amphitheater's main entrance. Inside, a man stood hunched over a button-covered panel. He must have been in charge of the lights. For such a fancy hotel, they had obviously spared every expense when it came to a lighting technician.

Soon, the lights dimmed to a more comfortable level. Once Shuichi’s eyes adjusted, he could make out semi-circular rows of music stands, all surrounding a glossy, black piano--where The Crowned Horse had left his calling card just a few days before. 

“So, detective, what do you think is going on here?” Kaede asked.

“I’m...not sure. Miss Akamatsu, do you know if there are any valuable items around here? That might give us a hint as to what his target is.”

“Maybe this piano? But I can’t imagine that a thief would try to steal something so heavy. It’s not exactly something you can snatch up and sprint away with.”

There didn’t appear to be any other valuable items housed in the theater. Just what was The Crowned Horse planning?

“Hey, detective, do you think the Crowned Horse is going to interrupt the concert?”

That was a difficult question to answer. On the one hand, stealing things was likely easier with fewer witnesses present, and the amphitheater would be full of people during the performance. On the other, maybe the performance would serve as a distraction, leaving The Crowned Horse free to steal his target while everyone’s attention was elsewhere. 

“It’s hard to say at this point,” Shuichi said.

Kaede’s face fell. “I see…”

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’m the first person performing here tonight--more because of good luck than real talent if I’m being honest,” Kaede said.

“What do you mean?”

“The orchestra is world-class. Under normal circumstances, they’d never let a high-schooler perform with them. I’m only here because they ran a publicity stunt. A bunch of high-school students competed against each other, and--with some luck and a whole bunch of hard work--I came out on top. So, now I get the honor of kicking off this concert!” 

“Oh, congratulations.” Given how prestigious the orchestra was, saying that she’d done “a whole bunch of hard work” was probably underselling the kind of effort she’d had to put in to make it so far. That kind of drive was impressive. 

Kaede chewed her lower lip. “The thing is, I can tell that no one here expects anything of me. Compared to everyone else here, my skills are nothing. So…” Kaede shook her head, but some of her tension left her body. “...so that’s why I want to give this performance my all! I want my piano playing to put a smile on everyone’s faces!” The anxiety and hesitation drained from Kaede’s expression, replaced by determination and a bold smile. Then, she gave a nervous chuckle and, a bit more sheepishly added, “But I really don’t want anything to go wrong while I’m performing. Even giving it my all won’t mean anything if The Crowned Horse comes in and causes a commotion in the middle of my piece.”

The sentiment in Kaede’s words resonated with Shuichi, pulling forward memories from before the murder case. When he had first moved in with his aunt and uncle, no one had expected anything of him. His skills had been (and still were) nothing compared to the skills of everyone that he worked with. So, when he was offered a way to help people--in the form of assisting his uncle with detective work--he’d jumped at the chance.

Back then, Shuichi had given his detective work his all. Having a way to help people--having a way to put smiles on other people’s faces--it was a way to feel like everyone else’s time and energy wasn’t being wasted on him. It was a good feeling.

Was that why Kaede wanted to reach people with her music?

Shuichi risked a glance to her face, not letting his gaze linger too long around her eyes. Her determined expression didn’t betray any insecurities. 

“I’ll do what I can to stop him,” Shuichi said, words tumbling out of his mouth before he had a chance to reflect on them.

Kaede smiled. “Thank you. Having an actual detective on the case makes me feel a lot less nervous about all this.” 

“Ah, well, it’s my job, after all.” Shuichi turned to leave. With no obvious clues available for investigation, it was time to--

“Hey, wait!” Kaede called. She held a tiny notepad in the palm of her hand and a black pen at the ready. “Don’t go yet! I have some questions I want to ask you!”

“Huh?”

Kaede nodded earnestly. “Yeah! So, what’s your favorite food?”

“I...what? Why are you asking?”

Kaede gave a nervous chuckle and rubbed the back of her head. “Oh...I spend a lot of time practicing piano, so most people think of me as ‘That Piano Freak.’ ...I don’t have many friends. But you seem like a cool person! I mean, wow, a real-life detective. You don’t meet one of those every day!” 

What kind of impression did she have of detectives? Did she think that they were larger-than-life Sherlock Holmes-esque characters? Most of Shuichi’s detective experience had been in reviewing boring surveillance camera footage and social media stalking. He didn’t deserve Kaede’s enthusiasm.

“Anyways, I’m sorry if it’s a bit forward, but I’ve heard that the best way to make friends is to get to know people. So that’s why…”

“...why you’re questioning me?”

Kaede nodded. Then her eyes widened in realization. “Oh, but you probably have a lot of detective-ing to get to! And I’m probably getting in the way. Sorry. Sorry. Wait just one second.” Chewing her bottom lip, Kaede scribbled something on a sheet of paper and offered it to Shuichi. “This is my phone number. Call it or text it if you ever feel like it. And if you don’t want to, that’s alright too. Sorry if this is a bit awkward, but, well...you miss all the shots that you don’t take, right?”

“...right.” Shuichi tilted his cap lower, not because he’d accidentally caught Kaede’s eyes, but because he wanted to hide his now uncomfortably warm face. 

A friend. After the fallout from the murder case, Shuichi didn’t have many of those left. It could be nice.

Shuichi accepted the paper and slipped it into his pocket.

\------

Kokichi peeked through the entrance to the hotel’s amphitheater, eyes fixing on two figures who had taken to the stage--the pianist and Detective Emo Hat. 

As opposed to his usually clown-themed getup, Kokichi was wearing a tuxedo. His face was bare, but his domino mask lay hidden in his jacket pocket. He’d put it on once their plan was in action. In the meantime, it was best to remain inconspicuous.

Sitting next to him, Hato--another member of DICE--fiddled with her binoculars, trying to focus them on something outside the hotel’s windows. 

“Stop that! We don’t want to draw attention!” Kokichi hissed. 

“But the pigeons...I want to see them…” Hato’s ever-monotone voice had a hint of sorrow in it. Kokichi would have felt bad if he hadn’t reminded himself that they lived in a big city. Pigeons were literally everywhere. Hato would survive a few minutes away from her beloved birds.

“I’m going to take them home.” Hato pulled a green-and-white patterned cloth out of their equipment bag. “How many do you think would fit in here? It looks like...about five...maybe six.”

Great. Six new little shit factories. Kokichi snatched the cloth out of Hato’s hands and shoved it back in the bag. “If you bring any birds home, they’re staying far away from my room--_especially_ my bed. Or else it’ll be pigeon stew for dinner.”

“So cruel…”

Kokichi paid her no mind, peering back into the theater to continue observing Emo Hat. Hato poked her head in beside him.

“Oh. Is he the detective you have a crush on?” Hato asked.

Kokichi scoffed. “Of course not! Besides, phantom thieves don’t have crushes! We have _rivals_.”

“Huh…” Then, after a pause. “So is he the rival you have a crush on?”

“If you’re gonna be a smartass, you can go wait outside.”

“Where the pigeons are!”

“Nevermind. Do you remember the plan?” Kokichi asked. Hato wasn’t the brightest member of DICE, but, more importantly for Kokichi’s scheming, she was about his height and build. As long as she knew her role, the plan would go off without a hitch.

Miraculously, Hato recited everything that Kokichi had told her to do, down to the last detail. All the while, Kokichi stared at Detective Emo Hat, watching his movements. 

The detective turned to exit the stage, and the pianist’s shoulders filled with tension. She took a breath, pulled a notepad out of her pocket, and called to the detective. Kokichi couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the pianist’s body language--while still carrying some nervousness--was more relaxed. Almost casual. 

Then, the pianist tore a sheet of paper out of her notepad and handed it to the detective. Hot, prickly anger thrummed through Kokichi’s nerves. “Hato, give me those binoculars,” he said. 

“But the birds are--” Kokichi didn’t wait to hear her protests. He snatched the binoculars out of her hands and aimed them at the piece of paper.

Sure enough, the paper listed ten digits: a phone number. Kokichi angled the binoculars so that he could get a good look at the detective’s face, and--was he blushing!?

No. Nonononono. Kokichi had just met that detective. He was _maybe_ the only smart one on the force. Kokichi was counting on him to make their games of cat and mouse actually interesting for once. He couldn’t get distracted by some girl!

“Hato, change of plans. Operation Robin Hood starts _now_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Korekiyo shows up later on in this fic. Would you guys like there to be implied incest or no implied incest? He’s going to be a pretty creepy/effed up character no matter what, but the absence/presence of incest will determine if he is a total creep (incest) or if he has some redeeming qualities (no incest).


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Wigs made out of synthetic fibers hold their form. They don’t need any styling to retain their shape, but because their hair is made out of plastic, trying to style them can melt the hair (with the exception of wigs made of special, heat-resistant fibers).

The hotel’s entryway was flooded with theatergoers, all dressed in neatly pressed suits and flowing, silk gowns. Their jewelry glinted more than the crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. No matter where Shuichi looked, there was a spark of light reflecting off of something fancy. 

...Best not to think about something that only made him uncomfortable. Besides, he had evidence to find. He skirted the edge of the crowd, looking to the walls for clues. What was The Crowned Horse going to steal?

The most obvious candidates were the renaissance-style paintings hanging from the walls, each decorated with an intricate, golden frame. They were lightweight and small compared to most everything else in the hotel, but were they even worth anything? If they were the real deal, they’d be protected in a museum, not exposed where anyone could grab them. Probably not a candidate for theft.

The marble statues were better candidates, standing within their alcoves on each side of the hallway. Some had polished metal plaques beneath them, detailing their sculptors and histories. Obviously something of value, but they posed the same issue that the grand piano had: They were heavy. How would The Crowned Horse steal them? 

Shuichi was so focused on the hotel’s walls that he failed to see where he was going and inevitably stumbled over someone’s feet. He failed his arms, struggling to keep his balance, but a hand wrapped around his wrist and steadied him.

“Oh, tha--Kaede!? But I just saw you!”

“Huh, no one’s mistaken me for Kaede in a while. That really takes me back.”

“Ah…” Now that Shuichi had a moment to properly look at her, the girl was obviously not Kaede. Her dress was a simple, pristine white. Her hair had been done up into a neat bun, and she lacked the distinctive, music-note-shaped hairpins that adorned Kaede’s head. But, otherwise, the girl was a carbon copy of Kaede Akamatsu.

“Confused? The name’s Nozomi Akamatsu. Kaede’s my big sister. We’re twins.”

“Oh, sorry. My bad,” Shuichi said.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s actually kinda flattering that someone could confuse me for my big sis.”

“Really?” If it had been Shuichi, he would have been insulted. How little of an impression did you have to make for people to get your name wrong?

“Yeah! Kaede’s really talented, but I’m just a normal, boring high school student. I’m happy to bask in her limelight--since it’s the closest I’ll ever come to being noteworthy myself…”

Weren’t they twins? If Kaede had innate skill when it came to piano, wouldn't Nozomi have it, too? Why couldn't she do what Kaede did? Or was Shuichi misunderstanding how genetics worked?

“If you’ve never listened to Kaede’s playing, you really should!” Nozomi continued. “I’ve heard her music in action. When it reaches people’s ears, you can see their souls filling up with happiness and their hearts filling up with hope. It’s a truly beautiful sight to behold!”

“Oh, that’s--” Suhichi glanced around, searching for a way out. He took a step back, but Nozomi took a step forward, her eyes shining as she continued singing her sister’s praise. 

“And she’s so strong-willed! I’ve never known her to give up on anything in her life. Everyone around her can sense her steadfast conviction, and it pushes them all forward! I wish I could do something like that...”

“Well, I--”

“I know that I’m just a talentless hack, but I really, really want to do what she does. I want to inspire people. Give them the hope and the strength to keep pushing forward, even when life gets tough. Like Kaede can!”

“...Right.” Shuichi had accepted that Nozomi wasn’t going to leave him alone until she had run out of ways to praise her sister. He just prayed that Nozomi’s obsessiveness would die down soon.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the gleam drained from Nozomi’s eyes, and dread filled her expression. “Oh no. I did it again, didn’t I? Sorry. Sorry. I’m a huge fangirl, so I tend to ramble a bit. You can tell me to stop if you want. I won’t mind.”

Shuichi would have told her to stop if he could have gotten a word in edgewise. 

“I’m sorry. I need to get going. I’m a detective, and it looks like--” 

“You’re a detective?” The eager glimmer had returned to Nozomi’s eyes. “That’s so cool! You live a really fascinating existence, don’t you? Parsing through truths and lies. Exposing culprits. I bet a lot of people look up to you!”

“Uh...it’s not nearly so glamorous,” Shuichi said. Apparently Nozomi’s enthusiasm extended beyond just Kaede. 

“Oh, jeez. I keep doing it. Sorry,” Nozomi said. She took a step back, finally giving Shuichi some space. 

Shuichi tried to slip away, but Nozomi grabbed him by the arm. 

“Sorry. Sorry. Just one more thing. You’ve seen my sister recently, right? Do you know if she’s still wearing her music note hairpins?”

“Uh…” It’d been one of the first details Shuichi had noticed about her. But he didn’t know if it’d be good to share that information with her Kaede-obsessed sister.

“She...is…” Shuichi said, speaking slowly as if holding his words back would make Nozomi’s reaction less intense.

How wrong he was.

A grin spread across Nozomi’s face. She bounced up and down, letting out a high-pitched squeal that carried down the hallway. People turned to stare.

“That’s amazing! That’s amazing!” Nozomi chanted. “I gave her those just before she went off to live with our hardass aunt. They’re real silver, too, so I would have thought that she’d sold them off to a pawn shop or something by now. I mean, if she gave me a gift, _I’d_ treasure it for the rest of my life, but then again, _I’m _a nobody, so whatever she does with my gifts is fine with me. But ahhh! I can’t believe that she treasures a gift from me this much!”

“Oh, right…” Shuichi turned to leave, but he didn’t get more than a few steps away before Nozomi sprinted in front of him, blocking his path.

“Wait, wait. This is really important. Do not. I repeat, _do not_, tell Kaede that I’m here. We haven’t met up in years, and it’ll be really awkward if she knows that I’m watching her performance. Alright? Alright. It’s a secret. Just between the two of us. Shh.” With that, Nozomi slipped past Shuichi and vanished around a corner.

\-------

Despite searching the hotel from top to bottom, Shuichi found a grand total of zero clues. The Crowned Horse was bound to act soon, yet Shuichi was still none the wiser as to his goals. 

A detective who couldn’t find a single clue even when his quarry intentionally gave him a leg up. More proof that Shuichi was out of his depth. 

With nowhere else to go, Shuichi headed back to the theater, wandering onstage so that he could look over the piano once more. Maybe a new clue would reveal itself this time? 

Silver glinted from the direction of the piano. His stomach twisted inward as if his intestines were tying knots with themselves. _A clue?_

As he focused on the glimmer, his stomach-knots untwisted somewhat. It was just a set of familiar music-note-shaped hairpins, glinting from atop Kaede’s head. Kaede herself was sitting at the piano’s bench, brows furrowed, eyes closed, and body swaying side to side. 

It couldn’t hurt to talk to her again. After all, Shuichi had no clues to go on. There was no way he could catch The Crowned Horse as things were.

…

Yeah, maybe Kaede had learned something new in the last forty-five minutes or so. It was definitely possible that she had a clue Shuichi could use.

Kaede didn’t react as Shuichi rounded the side of the piano. Her eyes remained shut, but her fingers flowed over the keys, silently glancing off their surfaces. The motion was graceful, undulating, like a dance. 

Shuichi hated to break her concentration, especially when she was so obviously immersed in what she was doing, but he’d come to her to look for clues, not watch her play. “Miss Akamatsu?” he prompted.

Kaede’s hands stilled, and she cracked an eye open. “Oh, Saihara? Did you find something?” she asked.

“Ah, no, I just...:” his eyes lingered on her hairpins. They were a gift from Nozomi, so that meant they had sentimental value, right? 

“...I just noticed that your hairpins looked a little loose. I wanted to warn you that they might fall out,” Shuichi said. 

“Really?” Kaede’s hands flew to her head, cupping the hairpins. “I haven’t had many issues with them. They usually stay put just fine. But then again, I was in a bit of a rush getting here. Maybe I put them in all sloppy? Well, it’ll only take a minute to fix, so--”

“Actually, I can hold onto them for you, if you want. The performance will start soon, and you wouldn’t want to lose them while you’re playing. The rest of the orchestra has to come up here later, and if they’ve fallen on the floor, they’ll get kicked around in the chaos. It could be hard to find them again.”

Kaede frowned. Then, she looked up at Shuichi, searching his expression for something. She must have found what she was looking for, because she said, “I’ll trust your judgment. Here.” She undid her hairpins and handed them to Shuichi. “Keep them safe for me, okay?”

“I will. Don’t worry.”

Kaede smiled, gave Shuichi a nod, and placed her hands over the piano’s keys once again.

“Oh, Miss Akamatsu, I’m sorry, but have you seen anything strange recently?”

“Yeah. Funny that you ask, but I saw this really weird-dressed guy walking through the theater just a few minutes ago. I think he was wearing a straitjacket? I can’t tell you much more than that because I was focused on practicing my piece, but--”

_The Crowned Horse._ Worried bands tightened around Shuichi’s heart. “Which way did he go?”

“That way.” Kaede pointed to a door, and Shuichi, after a moment of hesitation, forced himself to walk through it, stuffing Kaede’s hairpins into his blazer’s interior pocket. It’d be hard to lose them in there.

He entered the hotel’s lobby. Black tuxedos and colored dresses flowed around him until--_there!_ A flash of checkered fabric, slipping into the crowd and out of sight. 

Shuichi waded through the crowd, shoving people aside, murmuring apologies until he made it to an empty hallway. The Crowned Horse had disappeared from his sight.

He must have escaped. As guilty as it was, the thought loosened the worried cords in Shuichi’s chest.

Shuichi turned to head back to the theater, but he spotted a lock of purple hair peeking out from behind a statue. His quarry was right in front of him. As much as he wanted to pretend that he hadn’t seen the thief, he wouldn’t be able to face Kaede if he let The Crowned Horse’s mischief ruin her performance.

Shuichi forced his guilt down and lunged for The Crowned Horse’s hair, grabbing the strands in his fist.

The Crowned Horse danced out of his grasp, leaving Shuichi with his hand clenched around a mesh covered in purple, hairlike strands. A wig?

That person wasn’t The Crowned Horse at all, Shuichi realized as the accomplice unrolled her bun, letting a cascade of brown hair fall about her waist.

“Hmm...I think I bought him enough time...maybe I can feed the pigeons while he’s busy. So long,” she said, pulling a handful of eggs out of her pocket. She flung them at the ceiling, and they split open, spilling gray powder into the air. When it cleared, the accomplice had vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like Hato’s entire personality is a John Mulaney reference: “Everyone get outta my way! I just wanna sit here and feed my birds.”
> 
> Also, I’ve been doing some low-key unreliable narrator stuff with Shuichi, but I’m worried it might have been too subtle. Did anyone pick up on it?


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Kokichi's name “Ouma” contains the kanji for “king” (王, pronounced “Ou”) and “horse” (馬, pronounced “ma”).
> 
> Additional fun fact: The Japanese equivalent of blowing a raspberry at someone is called “Akanbe.” It consists of [pulling down one’s eyelid and (usually), sticking one’s tongue out.](https://i.ytimg.com/vi/P1tgM4uDFTQ/maxresdefault.jpg)
> 
> Since Kaede is shown to have an interest in mostly classical music, I picked out Mozart’s [“Turkish March”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MF7U1QYS1zE) as music for this chapter.

Shuichi brushed the powder off of his hair. It smeared across his hands, staining them silvery-gray like...powdered pencil lead?

For such successful thieves, their tools were simple--more like what children doing crafts might make than anything professional. But Shuichi couldn’t deny their effectiveness. The accomplice was nowhere to be seen.

Hold on...hadn’t she said something about buying The Crowned Horse time?

The theater. With dread clenching around his chest, Shuichi dashed through the hallways. They were empty now. There couldn’t be more than a few minutes until the beginning of the concert.

He flung the theater doors open. The auditorium rang with applause as Kaede took her seat at the piano, her usually optimistic expression pale with nervousness. She took a deep breath. Some of the tension eased from her face, and she began to play.

The rapid, almost frantic notes filled the amphitheater. Shuichi scanned the crowd. No face-hiding fans, no straitjackets, no masks. Where was he? 

Shuchi’s gaze landed on the lighting room. The lighting technician lay slumped in his chair, unconscious. Hunched over the control panel was The Crowned Horse. 

Their eyes met. The Crowned Horse stiffened like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Then, he shot Shuichi a grin, stuck his tongue out, and pressed a finger over his domino mask in a mock eyelid-pull. 

Shuichi glared. The Crowned Horse laughed.

With a flourish, the thief flipped a switch. The doors slammed shut behind Shuichi, trapping the dim, cavernous theater off from the bright hallways outside. 

Shuichi realized the thief’s plan a moment too late. He flung an arm in front of his eyes, but the glare had already pierced his gaze. His vision stained black with afterimages of the theater’s lighting. 

Then, with an echoing_ thunk,_ the lights shut off. Everyone was blind. Everyone except The Crowned Horse.

What should he do? Should he find the doors? Leave the theater? Lie in wait for his quarry? 

But what if, in catching him, Shuichi exposed a horrible truth? What if, once again, everyone turned against him? 

No. Shuichi didn’t have to do that. He was blind, just like the other theatergoers, a victim of The Crowned Horse’s tricks. No one would fault him for not catching the thief. 

A pitter-patter of feet raced toward Shuichi. Then--

“Yoink!”

Cold air flowed over Shuichi’s scalp. He pressed a palm to his head, feeling only soft strands of hair. His hat was gone!?

Light spilled around Shuichi. The Crowned Horse stood, silhouetted in the doorway, a string of gems wrapped around his hand, a cloth full of loot tied around his neck, and Shuichi’s hat sitting askew atop his head.

“H-hey! Get back here!” Shuichi lunged for the thief, but The Crowned Horse danced out of reach and took off down the hallway. 

Shuichi gave chase. The Crowned Horse tossed a makeshift smoke bomb over his shoulder. Indigo powder hissed through the hallways, blocking Shuichi’s vision. Shuichi knew not to let that stop him. He sprinted forward--

\--and tripped.

The smoke cleared, revealing marbles scattered around his feet. The Crowned Horse snickered and ducked around a corner.

With the way ahead covered in a sea of marbles, chasing directly after the thief was impossible. Shuichi shoved himself to his feet and veered toward the hotel’s front doors. The hotel only had so many ways in and out. Only so many streets The Crowned Horse could turn down without reaching a dead end. If Shuichi could get outside first, he could head the thief off.

Shuichi slammed the front doors open. To his right, a window shattered. A chair thunked onto the sidewalk, followed by The Crowned Horse himself.

The thief dashed across the street, leaping over the hoods of traffic-slowed cars and elbowing between passerby. 

Shuichi pursued. His movements matched The Crowned Horse’s actions beat for beat. The distance between them narrowed. If Shuichi reached out, he could _almost_ hook his fingers around the brim of his hat. All he needed to do was close that gap and--

The Crowned Horse dodged down a narrow alleyway, and Shuichi skidded to a halt. That was impossible. A world-renowned phantom thief had to have more sense than that, right? Surely he knew…?

There had to be a trick up his sleeve.

Shuichi raced down the alleyway. A brick wall stood at its end. No footholds. Three stories tall. Impassible.

The Crowned Horse stared up at it, not even trying to surmount the obstacle. When Shuichi approached, the thief whirled around, his eyes scanning the area between Shuichi and the alley’s walls. But the alleyway was barely wide enough for two people to stand shoulder to shoulder. He couldn’t slip past Shuichi. He was trapped.

The Crowned Horse’s shoulders slumped--an admission of defeat. He undid his sack of stolen goods, letting it slide to the ground. Pigeons strutted up to it. They pecked at the glimmering rings and sparkling necklaces that had spilled onto the concrete. The Crowned Horse must have stolen the theatergoers' jewelry.

“I can’t believe it. Bested by a brick wall…”

“Uh…” Shuichi hadn’t expected to actually corner him. What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say?

“I-I’m with the Tokyo MPD? And I’m here to arrest you?” Shuichi counted himself lucky that only he and The Crowned Horse were around to hear his shaky declaration.

The Crowned Horse hung his head and extended his wrists to Shuichi. “Go ahead. Now that I’ve been caught, I’m a disgrace to phantom thieves everywhere. Just take me in. I deserve it.”

Shuichi pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and raised them to The Crowned Horse’s wrists, but he hesitated to cuff the thief. He was being so compliant. Shuichi couldn’t help but suspect that he was playing right into The Crowned Horse’s hands.

The Crowned Horse’s expression was hidden beneath his bangs. Still, Shuichi could read the heaviness in his posture. Assuming that his demeanor wasn’t an act, then…

“I’m sorry about this,” Shuichi murmured. He closed a cuff around The Crowned Horse’s wrist with a click that made him wince. And, because he didn’t trust the cuffs to be enough to subdue such a tricky thief, Shuichi closed the other cuff around his own wrist. Another criminal, brought in thanks to Shuichi’s work.

The Crowned Horse lifted his head. His eyes glimmered with mischief, and, for a moment, the expression washed all of Shuichi’s guilt away.

The Crowned Horse raised their handcuffed arms, giving Shuichi a knowing smirk. “Oh, so this is the sorta thing you’re into?”

“...What?” Realization hit Shuichi. “N-no! You’ve got it wrong! I’m _arresting _you. Why would you even--?”

“Huh? But there’s a perfectly good pipe you could have cuffed me to if you didn’t want me to run away.” The Crowned Horse jerked his head, pointing to a drainpipe bolted to the alley’s wall. “But I’m guessing that you were more interested in getting all up close and personal with me...weren’t you, Detective?”

Unless The Crowned Horse had superhuman strength, cuffing him to the drainpipe would have left him with no means of escape. Shuichi mentally kicked himself for not thinking of that.

“That--I--” Shuichi gave up on trying to save face. “Give me my hat back,” he said, snatching it away from The Crowned Horse.

“Haha, you’re getting reaaaaally mad about some dumb emo hat. Why do you like it so much? Was it a gift? Is it full of sentimental value?”

“Stop it.” His hat was the only way he could block out people’s hate-filled eyes. Without it, he wouldn’t be able to face his family, knowing all the burdens he’d brought upon them. It wasn’t “some dumb emo hat.”

“Awwwwwww,” The Crowned Horse said, staring at Shuichi with a mock-affectionate expression, similar to how someone might look at a cute child. “Did your _Mommy_ give it to you?”

The only gift Shuichi’s mother had ever given him was her complete and total absence from his life. 

Shuichi gave The Crowned Horse a scowl. That only made the thief’s smirk grow wider. 

“Hmm...maybe you and I have more in common than I thought, Detective.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?”

“We’re both total mommas boys!”

Shuichi ignored him, pulling out his phone. Maybe Mr. Nagamura would know what to do with a captured criminal.

After a single ring, Mr. Nagamura picked up. “Can’t it wait? I’m in the middle of interrogating one of The Crowned Horse’s accomplices.”

The phone emitted such a loud shout that Shuichi winced and held it at arm’s length.

“For the last time, I’m not one of that dickwad’s accomplices! I’m Miu fuckin’ Iruma! Why would a gorgeous girl genius like me wanna work with that half-pint brat!?”

The Crowned Horse scowled.

“Oh really?” Mr. Nagamura said. “Then tell me, Miss Iruma, what’s your alibi for the time of the theft?”

“I was jackin’ off and getting high! You saw me go in here with a buncha AC fluid!”

“Do you have any evidence to support that?”

“Hell yeah, I’ve got evidence! In fact, I uploaded the damn evidence to every porn site on the ‘net. And if you don’t stop asking dumbass questions, I’m gonna rip out the hard drive with all the ‘evidence’ on it and shove it up your--”

“Thank you, Miss Iruma. So, what was it you were calling me about, again?” Mr. Nagamura said.

“Well, I’ve...caught The Crowned Horse?” Shuichi said. 

“Really? That’s wonderful news! Is he subdued? Restrained? He can be quite the slippery one!”

The Crowned Horse gave a cheesy grin and pointed to their handcuffed wrists.

“I don’t think he’s going anywhere anytime soon,” Shuichi said.

“Excellent! I can be there in fifteen minutes. Make sure he doesn’t get away!” With that, Mr. Nagamura hung up. 

Fifteen minutes. All Shuichi had to do was keep him there for fifteen minutes. 

Shuichi pulled the brim of his cap down and leaned against the alley wall, careful not to step on any of the pigeons that had gathered around his feet.

Even with his hat blocking most of his sight, Shuichi could see The Crowned Horse’s shoes in his peripheral vision--a grim reminder that he was about to be responsible for putting another person behind bars.

“Hey! Hey! I know you want to be all dark and broody behind your emo hat, but I wanna talk to you! C’mon, didn’t your mom ever teach you that it’s rude to ignore people?”

Shuichi tugged his hat down further. He wasn’t going to chance a look at The Crowned Horse’s eyes.

“Geez, I’m your _rival_. You could at least show me some respect instead of giving me a bunch of stupid silent treatment.”

Shuichi continued trying to block The Crowned Horse out, but the thief wasn’t having any of it. He slipped in front of Shuichi, so close that Shuichi’s hat couldn’t hide the thief’s annoyed expression. 

“See? Now we can talk face-to-face without your stupid emo hat getting in the way!”

The Crowned Horse was practically standing on top of him. If he leaned forward even a centimeter, their bodies would be pressed flush together. Shuichi tried to ignore how the idea made his breath catch in his throat. 

He glanced to The Crowned Horse’s lips. The thief smirked. He grabbed Shuichi’s tie and tugged him down to his level. Their faces were so close that Shuichi could identify the syrupy aroma of soda on the thief’s breath. 

“Well, _Detective_, this is much better, don’t you think?” The thief’s eyes fell half-lidded, and his voice gained a sultry cadence as it whispered hot against the shell of Shuichi’s ear.

Shuichi’s nerves pulsed like live wires. His knees trembled, but a tingling in his lips urged him to close the gap between them.

And yet with that smirk on The Crowned Horse’s face, Shuichi knew the thief had him right where he wanted him.

No. He wouldn’t cave.

“A-Ah!” Face burning, Shuichi shoved The Crowned Horse as far away as he could, given their handcuffed wrists. He took deep breaths, willing his body to calm itself.

“Nee-heehee!” The Crowned Horse doubled over laughing, his expression switching to lighthearted innocence. Was it some sort of joke?

“I can’t believe you fell for that! That’s gotta be the oldest trick in the book for getting under someone’s skin!”

What book was The Crowned Horse taking cues from!? 

“Hey, since we’ve got ten minutes until I get carted off to jail, how about we play a game?”

“I’m not really--”

“I’ve got cards! We could play 52 pickup!”

“I--”

“Come onnnnn! You’ve gotta humor me. I mean…” The Crowned Horse bowed his head, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. “I’m going straight to jail right after this, and no lawyer on Earth is good enough to get me out of a life sentence. This is the last thing I’m gonna do as a free man!”

“Uh…”

The thief’s watery eyes gave way to sniffles. Those turned to bawling. “Y-you’re such a horrible person! With me behind bars, my poor widow of a mother is going to die alone!” 

The Crowned Horse’s emotions were too showy to be real, but, even so, they tugged at something in the back of Shuichi’s mind.

“Crowned Horse--”

“_King_ (‘Ou’) Horse (‘ma’), to you. God, I thought you of all people would be smart enough to know that a horse with a crown on its head is obviously a king.”

Shuichi ignored the insult, instead honing in on a clue within the thief’s words. “‘Ouma?’ Is that your name?”

Ouma grinned from ear to ear. “Nope! That’s a lie!”

“Right, well, whatever your name is…Why…?” The words caught in the back of Shuichi’s throat. Saying them out loud would be admitting his own failure as a detective. He wasn’t supposed to sympathize with the criminal.

And yet...

“C’mon! Spit it out!”

“Why are you...a thief?”

Ouma’s expression darkened. For a moment, Shuichi worried he’d crossed a line.

“Because my role model is Scrooge McDuck!” Ouma said, grin back on his face. The change in his demeanor almost gave Shuichi whiplash.

“S-Scrooge…?”

“Yeah! Salarymen are too poor to swim in ginormous piles of money. That’s why I went into phantom thievery!” Ouma pressed a finger to his chin, an impish smirk rising to his features. “Alright, since we’re apparently playing Truth or Dare, you need to take a turn!”

“Wait! When did we--”

“I pick truth! Tell me a truth, Emo Hat!” Ouma jabbed a finger into Shuichi’s chest as if Shuichi were a vending machine that could spit out truths at the push of a button.

“That’s not how--My _name_ is ‘Saihara.’ Not ‘Emo Hat.’”

“Alrighty! My beloved Saihara, tell me why you’re so scared of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed my writing style changed drastically for the beginning of this chapter. I tried to make it fast-paced to match the music/tone of a chase scene, but I’m not entirely sure it worked out as intended. Thoughts?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Cutting off part of one’s finger is referred to as “yubitsume.” It is generally performed by low-ranking yakuza members in order to atone for mistakes or to demonstrate loyalty to the organization. Additionally, individuals indebted to the yakuza may sometimes absolve their debts via this practice.
> 
> More info [here.](https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4009169/)

“I’m...not scared of you?” Shuichi said. He knew exactly what Ouma was referring to. He was a thief. A criminal. Someone who could look at him with hate-filled eyes.

Ouma’s voice gained a sharp edge. “Don’t lie. I was watching you. You figured out my plan the instant you saw all the fancy jewelry those rich people were wearing! But, instead of trying to stop me, you wandered around following false leads. I bet you weren’t even gonna chase after me until I nabbed your stupid emo hat!”

“My hat isn’t--”

“Saihara, what would you do if I told you that I stole so I could donate to charities? Or to feed my starving family?”

“But you said--”

“I know what I said. But I’m a liar. That could have been a lie. You’d never know.” 

Ouma’s voice was serious. For all his tricks, what he’d just said had seemed more honest than anything else that’d come out of his mouth.

Shuichi had the handcuffs’ key in his back pocket. If it was true that Ouma had good intentions, then how could Shuichi condemn him to a criminal’s fate? 

Shuichi chewed his bottom lip. His hand drifted toward his back pocket.

“Wow! Not only are you a genius detective, but you’ve also got a kind heart! You’re the perfect rival for an evil supreme leader like me!” 

Shuichi’s hand stilled.“‘Evil supreme leader?’”

“Yep! I’ve told you about my evil organization, right? The one with over nine thousand members? We’re a band of arms dealers and mercenaries whose ultimate goal is to make a killer profit! Emphasis on ‘killer.’ We’ll do it all as long as the pay’s good! Espionage, kidnapping, even murder!”

“That...doesn’t add up. Why be a phantom thief if mercenary work pays that well? And if a crime syndicate that large actually existed, wouldn’t it have made the news?”

“Nuh-uh! It’s a _secret_ organization!”

It couldn’t be that secret if its leader was gleefully telling Shuichi, a police detective, all about it.

“And as for why I’m doing phantom thievery? Well...I’m in debt to a bunch of scary yakuza. If I don’t get them a million yen by Saturday, I’ll have to pay with my fingers!”

That was the third story Ouma had told to explain his thievery. Was it a lie, too?

“But, you know, I’m not mad that you’ve caught me, Detective.”

Shuichi let himself look Ouma in the eyes. They shone with the same admiration that had warmed Shuichi’s chest the first time they’d met.

“You’re not mad…?”

“Nope! Detectives like you take on a boring, thankless job, just to bring evil people like me to justice! It warms my cold, cruel heart to see that good people exist in this unfair world.” He took Shuichi by the hand and laced their fingers together.

Shuichi’s pulse beat in his ears. He tried to keep his breathing steady as a wicked smirk crossed Ouma’s features.

Ouma yanked Shuichi by their cuffed arms, pulling him so close that their bodies pressed flush against each other. With his face so close to the thief’s, Shuichi could see the soft, pink blush that had risen to his cheeks. 

“Well, since you don’t want to play any card games or lying games, how about we play a different sort of game?” Ouma pushed Shuichi against the alley wall, scaring a pair of pigeons out of the way.

“Ah...W-what sort of game?”

The half-lidded expression in Ouma’s eyes was answer enough.

The thief pressed a pair of fingers against Shuichi’s chest, walking them across Shuichi’s thrumming heart. Shuichi gulped as they traveled up his neck, leaving a trail of tingling electricity over his exposed skin. A thousand, contradictory phrases swirled in his mind, but the one that won out was a simple, “A-ah. Wait…”

To his surprise, the thief pulled back, his now-guarded expression searching Shuichi’s face.

Shuichi opened his mouth to say--he didn’t know what-- ”Stop?” “Why are you doing this?” “Is this another trick?”

Sirens sounded in the distance. Shuichi’s backup. Ouma’s shoulders slumped.

“Aww, that’s my cue. Looks like this’ll have to wait until our next meeting. Hato! That’s the signal!” Ouma called to the sky, stepping as far away from Shuichi as their handcuffs would allow.

Shuichi glanced upward just in time to see Ouma’s accomplice pouring a bag of birdseed into the alleyway. The wave of seeds crashed over him, drenching his clothes.

For one fragile, suspended moment, every pigeon in the alleyway turned to stare at Shuichi.

The moment shattered. The pigeons charged him, their tiny beaks stinging his skin. Shuichi’s vision was a barrier of wings. He threw his arms up to protect his face, but that defense didn’t last long. 

The handcuffs wrenched Shuichi through the alleyway, swinging him into a wall. He slumped to the ground, wheezing, trying to force oxygen into his burning lungs. Metal clinked. When the pigeons cleared from his sight, one of the cuffs was still wrapped around Shuichi’s wrist. The other was fastened to the drainpipe.

“What? You didn’t think I’d let you cuff me without having an escape plan, did you?” Ouma smirked, showing off a silver handcuff key.

Shuichi checked his back pocket. The key was gone.

“I’ve gotta go,” Ouma said, picking up his bag of stolen jewelry. His accomplice dangled a rope from the rooftops, but Ouma didn’t take his escape. Instead, he crouched down next to Shuichi and, shooting him a smirk, slipped one of his calling cards into the pocket of Shuichi’s blazer.

Their eyes locked. Ouma’s smirk softened into a smile. He pressed a kiss to Shuichi’s cheek and leapt to his feet, dashing for the rope.

Within moments, Ouma had vanished over the rooftops, leaving Shuichi with a glow in his chest and a tingling radiating from his cheek.

\------

“If you had started making out with him, I would have left you to the police,” Hato stated matter-of-factly.

“You’d just abandon your supreme leader like that!? You’re a cruel one, Hato.”

“Don’t care. Kissing is gross.”

Rooftops flew by beneath their feet, lending themselves to open air whenever the pair of thieves soared across an alleyway. Although, it was a stretch to call Hato a “thief,” considering she’d filled her sack of loot with nothing but disgruntled pigeons--public property as far as Kokichi was concerned.

“How much money will we get once we sell all this stuff?” Hato asked.

“I dunno. Maybe...A hundred billion yen!”

Hato gave Kokichi an exasperated look.

“Fiiiiiine. A few million yen, probably. Enough money to cover DICE’s expenses for another year. Two if we penny pinch.”

“Two years. That’s a lot.”

“‘Penny pinching’ means cutting down on unnecessary staff. Like your pigeons.”

“I was wrong. That’s not a lot. Get more money, Kokichi.” 

“You’re a slave driver! I work day and night to provide for everyone, and this is the thanks I get? Meanwhile, _you_ didn’t even steal anything valuable!”

“I got pigeons. Pigeons are valuable. They’re good for morale.”

“Not when they’re shitting all over my bed!”

“Acceptable collateral damage.”

Kokichi shook his head. “Oh! But I managed to swipe something else off Detective Emo Hat!” He slipped the piece of paper out of his pocket and showed it off to Hato. “That pianist’s gonna be our newest prank call victim!”

“Can I do the one about the refrigerator?”

“Nope! I stole the number, so I get exclusive pranking rights!”

Hato frowned at him. Kokichi stuck his tongue out at her.

The heist had been a resounding success, but part of Kokichi hesitated to think of it that way. He had a bag full of jewelry, he had a new pranking victim, and yet, despite trapping Detective Saihara in an alleyway and interrogating him, Kokichi had failed to get a straight answer.

_Why are you so scared of me?_

Saihara was talented, that much was obvious. He could--he _would_\--make a fantastic rival.

He just needed to stop holding back.

\------

“Don’t be so discouraged. You came closer to catching him than anyone else!”

“Hmm…” Shuichi sat in the back of Mr. Nagamura’s car, turning Ouma’s calling card over in his now-uncuffed hands. The mention of his failure sent a twinge of guilt coursing through his stomach, but he ignored it. He was preoccupied.

Shuichi had never been close to catching Ouma. With how well-coordinated the thief’s escape had been, it was clear he’d planned his “cornered thief” act well in advance. The outcome of their chase had been determined the instant Shuichi had decided to run after his stolen hat, if not long before. And Shuichi--like the amateur he was--had fallen for Ouma’s tricks.

Even now, Shuichi was none the wiser to the thief’s motivations. He’d answered Shuichi’s questions eagerly enough, but his answers were so contradictory that few could be anything but lies. The way he acted was equally inconsistent. He was a thief, someone who wanted to steal valuables and escape without getting caught. So why jeopardize his freedom just to taunt Shuichi?

Shuichi’s brain supplied a theory on why Ouma might have wanted him somewhere isolated. The thief had been awfully physical. Perhaps he’d had...less than pure intentions.

The memory sent Shuichi’s blood pumping. He tugged at his uncomfortably warm collar.

“You don’t need to be so embarrassed,” Mr. Nagamura said. “In fact, I think we should have a party! A ‘One of Us Actually Got The Crowned Horse into Handcuffs’ party. Granted, he did get out of them within a few minutes, but it’s still progress!”

“Ah, but I’m not--” Shuichi caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. His face glowed a bright shade of pink--not from embarrassment, though. 

No, no, it was stupid to think that way. Ouma had said it himself: He’d only been trying to get under Shuichi’s skin. It had been a distraction, nothing more.

But that still left the “why?” Why lure Shuichi away? Why taunt him? Why steal in the first place?

And, of all things, why had he left one of his calling cards in Shuichi’s pocket?

“Mr. Nagamura, The Crowned Horse sends his cards when he plans to steal something, right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Did that mean Ouma planned on stealing...Shuichi? That didn’t make any sense. You couldn’t steal a person, could you?

Sighing, Shuichi placed the card back in his blazer pocket. There it lay, resting above his heart. 

\------

By the time that Shuichi returned to the theater, the symphony had continued on with its concert, and an old man had taken his place at the piano. Kaede stood to the far side of the stage, eyebrows scrunched together, worrying her bottom lip.

Her performance. Shuichi’s chest twisted. He’d told her that he’d try to stop the thief, but he had still let Ouma pull his trick in the middle of her song. In the end, his promise had been meaningless. 

She caught Shuichi’s eyes, and the nervousness dropped from her expression. She jerked her head to the doors. The meaning was obvious, “_Come on. Let’s talk outside._”

Nausea pooled in Shuichi’s stomach. He pulled the brim of his cap over his eyes, trying to block out what would surely become Kaede’s disappointed expression. Even so, he forced himself to step outside the theater. He owed her an apology, at least.

“There you are!” she called. “I was worried when the lights went out and you suddenly vanished. It’s good to see that you’re alright. Did you catch him?”

“No. I didn’t. Miss Akamatsu...I-I’m sorry.”

“Huh? What’re you sorry for?” A note of worry edged into Kaede’s voice.

“The Crowned Horse interrupted your performance. I know it was my job to catch him, so…” 

Kaede gave a relieved sigh. “Oh. You don’t need to worry about that. I’m not sure if it was the adrenaline rush from being expected to perform with the lights out, or just muscle memory from practicing so much, but I managed to finish my piece without even missing a note! A lot of the other musicians thought that was pretty impressive, and, once they got the lights back on and everyone calmed down a bit, they even let me play it a second time. All things considered, I’d say my performance went pretty well!”

“Ah, but still…”

“Anyway, can I have my hairpins back?”

The hairpins. Shuichi’s heart dropped to his stomach. He slipped his hand into his blazer and--

They were still there. Ouma hadn’t taken them. The realization made Shuichi dizzy with relief.

He handed the hairpins over to Kaede, and she clipped them back onto her bangs, saying, “I thought it was a little weird that you asked to hold onto these out of the blue, so I figured you must have known something I didn’t. Guess your detective’s intuition told you The Crowned Horse would go after everyone’s jewelry, huh?”

Kaede was right. Shuchi hadn’t wanted to admit it, but if he could lie to himself and pretend that he had no leads, then he wouldn’t have had to chase after Ouma. 

Not that the thief had given him much choice.

“Well, hey, thanks for holding on to these. They’re actually a gift from my little sister, so I really couldn’t have replaced them if they’d been stolen. I owe you a big one.”

Nozomi. “Oh, your sister?” Maybe Kaede could explain why her younger twin was so...much.

“Yeah...” Kaede’s tone was laced with discomfort. Her posture sank, as if curling in on itself. “I haven’t spoken to her in ages. She’s a little obsessive. And pretty weird. And that’s coming from Miss Piano Freak herself, so…” She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s mellowed out a bit. It might not hurt to get back in touch.”

Nozomi didn’t exactly seem like a “mellow” person, but it was probably better to let Kaede make that judgment for herself.

“Again, thank you so much, Saihara! I’d love to stay and chat, but I should probably head back inside so that I don’t miss anyone’s performances. See you around?”

“Uh...sure?”

Kaede waved goodbye and headed back inside the theater.

Shuichi turned to leave, and, for a split second, he could have sworn that he saw a familiar head of blonde hair vanishing around a corner.

\------

_Kokichi’s breath billowed white as he sprinted through the woods, dark leaves crunching beneath his feet. All around him, the frost-covered skeletons of maple trees shone silver in the full moon’s light. His cape--its hidden pockets filled with stolen trinkets--clanged as it fluttered in the chilly, late-autumn wind. The sound would be enough to have every cop in the area on his tail._

_If Kokichi strained his ears, he could hear the detective’s hurried footsteps, twigs snapping, coming close. His own frantic heartbeat grew loud, almost drowning out all other sound. This must be how it felt to be a rabbit, with a wolf hot on its tail._

_The detective drew close enough that Kokichi could hear his labored breathing. He wasn’t fast enough to escape just by running. He needed to fight._

_A fallen log stood in Kokichi’s path. Seizing his chance, Kokichi leapt on top of it, twirling mid-jump to swing his leg back around to the detective’s face. It collided with a dull thud. The detective dropped to his knees, clutching at his nose. That was all Kokichi saw before he was facing forward again. The getaway car lay just ahead. A few more seconds and--_

_The ground disappeared. Kokichi free-fell, branches and leaves seemingly suspended in the air around him._

_Then, he landed with a **crash**. His hips, his shoulder blades, every part of his body dug itself into the irregularly-shaped metal trinkets hidden inside his cape. Hissing through gritted teeth, he pushed himself to his hands and knees. He’d be covered in bruises come tomorrow._

_There was hardly any light. The only things Kokichi could see were a narrow circle of stars up above his head, as if he were looking at the world from the bottom of a soda can. Around him, the world was cold, hard, and damp._

_Some of the stars winked out, their forms blocked by something human-shaped. The detective. Kokichi didn’t see so much as hear him smirking. _

_The detective’s clothing rustled. A button clicked, and Kokichi found himself caught in the yellowish glare of a flashlight._

_“Kokichi Ouma, captured at last. I never thought it’d be a simple pit trap that finally caught you.”_

_A shiver coursed up Kokichi’s spine. He couldn’t see the detective hiding behind the flashlight’s beam, but the voice was unmistakable: Saihara._

_“Wooooow! That name isn’t even on my official government documents! You must have been **really** interested in uncovering my identity!” He was backed into a corner, but he still had power. He could lie. He could misdirect. It had gotten him out of trouble before. It could get him out of trouble again._

_“Hmm. That could be a problem. I can’t arrest you if I don’t know your real identity.”_

“Coo!”

_“Nee-heehee! That was a lie! Besides, you’ve got bigger things to worry about. You definitely can't arrest me while I’m all the way down here and you’re all the way up there.” Come on, take the bait._

_With a thump, Saihara landed in a crouch next to Kokichi._

_Perfect._

_The detective didn’t move to cuff him. Instead, he slipped a finger under Kokichi’s chin, tilting his head upward. “All these years. All this chasing. I can’t believe that I finally have you right where I want you.” The glimmer of the flashlight shone in Saihara’s eyes, reflecting their barely-concealed desire._

_“Oh, but detective, you’ve fallen right into my trap~”_

_Saihara stared into Kokichi’s eyes, examining them for hints of dishonesty. The finger under Kokichi’s chin turned to a fist, gripping his jaw so tightly that it stung Kokichi’s skin. “Don’t lie.” The detective commanded it with so much authority that, for a moment, Kokichi considered obeying the order. _

_Trapped in Saihara’s eagle-eyed gaze, it didn’t matter what Kokichi said. Lies. Truth. The detective could see through all of them. All of Kokichi’s tricks, his defenses, were stripped away until Saihara could see every piece of him for what it was._

“Coo!”

_Their faces were close. Kokichi caught the scent of mints on Saihara’s breath. Had the detective planned even this, too?_

_Eyes burning with want, Saihara leaned in and--_

“Coo!”

Kokichi’s eyes flew open. Standing atop his pillow was a beady-eyed pigeon. 

“Nope! Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope.” Kokichi launched himself out of bed, sending his checkered blanket flying. He stumbled over to his wardrobe and threw its doors open. A flood of knick-knacks, candies, and toys poured out. From within their midst, Kokichi dug out a broom, and, yelling a battle cry, lunged for the pigeon.

Except the dumb bird didn’t even move. It tilted its head at Kokichi, but otherwise ignored the much larger human. If Kokichi were to kill it, it’d be natural selection at work.

But that would make Hato sad.

Sighing, Kokichi scooped the pigeon onto the broom’s handle and carried it outside. As usual, there was no one--human or otherwise--in sight.

Kokichi’s room--the remains of an old toy chain if the half-fallen lettering on its front was anything to go by--lay sequestered in a distant corner of the mall’s basement. With some blue, neon lighting installed in the ceiling, it had the perfect creepy ambiance for an evil supreme leader! And, in the pigeons' opinions, it was the perfect place to set up shop.

Fortunately, only one of the dumb birds had invaded his lair. Kokichi set it down in the hallway outside and, with a nudge from his broom, told it, “Go on. Head back to your mother. I don’t have any food for you. Shoo! Shoo!”

The pigeon strutted away, marching in a straight line toward Hato’s room. Good riddance.

Kokichi stomped back into his room, tossing the broom back into the pile of spilled goodies. He’d have to clean them up later. But, for now, he was going to see if he could revisit his dream. He had been _so close_ to the good part!

Kokichi flopped back down onto his bed and shut his eyes, but, no matter how much he slowed his breathing or relaxed his muscles, sleep wouldn’t come. 

Stupid pigeon. Kokichi sat up and fished a TV remote out from under his bed. If his dreams wouldn't visit him, then he’d lose himself in a different fantasy world. Maybe it’d be one about kings and monsters! Or even card games where the players bet their souls!

With the push of a button, the TV’s screen flicked on, showing...the news. Ugh. Booooooring. There had better be some cartoons on.

“In other news, The Crowned Horse--”

Wait, it was about him? Well, that made it totally-not-boring-and-super-fun! The news channel got a pass. This time.

Leg bouncing, grin creeping up his face, Kokichi fixed his eyes on the screen. Maybe they were on the scene. Maybe they were going to interview Saihara. Maybe Saihara would even declare his undying animosity towards him!

But the news didn’t show the theater. Nor did it show Saihara. As Kokichi watched, the grin fell from his face.

“Hang on. That’s not right…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it slowburn if they’re almost making out at about 30% of the way through the story? Is it still slowburn if they don’t even learn each other’s names until 30% of the way through the story?
> 
> These are the questions.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally went and gave Korekiyo a whole two-chapter-long character arc, but I didn’t want to slow down this story too much with a side character, so I only left the plot-relevant bits in this fic. If you want more Korekiyo, you can go [here.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637123/chapters/51594502)
> 
> If you just stick to the POVs here, Korekiyo’s relationship with his sister can be left up to interpretation, but the sidefic is pretty blatantly no incest, implied or otherwise.
> 
> Fun Fact: The most common type of lock is a pin and tumbler lock. Its internal structure looks like [this.](http://3dprint.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/3dp_lock_tumbler.jpg) Picking these locks requires pushing the pins to the same height that a key’s notches would push them to.

It was a simple endeavor to convince the girl to come home with him. All Korekiyo had to do was spin a promise of making her some tea for her sore throat and she--likely already looking for an excuse to spend time with him--followed after him like a lamb to the slaughter.

In order to ensure that his sister’s new friend would join her in the afterlife, it was necessary that the girl’s death be associated with things of his sister. Therefore, Korekiyo used the same chamomile tea that he had often made for his sister, when her coughing was severe enough to inflame her throat, yet not so severe as to prevent her from eating or drinking.

The girl didn’t notice when Korekiyo slipped a few of his mother’s sleeping capsules into the tea. She was unconscious within minutes.

After checking that no one was near, Korekiyo grabbed the girl’s limp body--likely halfway to death, given how much sedative Korekiyo had given her--and dragged her to the back yard, laid her in front of a flowerbed of blooming lilies, and, his feet bare, his sleeves rolled up so as to not stain them with blood, drove a knife into the back of the girl’s neck.

By the time Korekiyo’s parents returned home, the girl’s body was resting deep beneath the flowerbed.

\------

That night, when Korekiyo’s dreams brought him to his sister’s afterlife, he found her with her arms wrapped around the girl--her new friend--consoling her as she sobbed into her shoulder. It had worked. With some luck, his sister’s realm would be overflowing with friends.

Korekiyo raised an arm and called out in greeting. He expected for his sister to turn around, smiling, and thank him for ending her loneliness.

Instead, she whirled around, teeth clenched, glare sharper than the knife Korekiyo had used to send her her new friend. 

“What the _hell_ were you thinking!?”

Korekiyo flinched and took a step backward. “Ah, I…”

“Kiyo, when I said this place was empty, I wasn’t asking for this!” she gestured to the sobbing girl that Korekiyo had sent her.

“I-I’m sorry--”

“No! _I’m_ not the one you need to apologize to. God, Kiyo, I thought I knew you.” His sister's eyes scrunched up like she was in pain. Korekiyo wanted to rush forward and comfort her, but, given her anger, she was likely to attack him if he came within arm’s reach.

“I--”

“No, I don’t care what you have to say.”

“But--”

“LEAVE!”

Korekiyo’s eyes flew open. His sister’s realm had vanished, leaving only his dark ceiling staring back at him. 

\------

From then on, Korekiyo’s dreams were nothing more than nonsense. No matter how many times Korekiyo vowed that he wouldn’t send any more friends or muttered apologies at his sister’s gravestone, she never showed any signs of wanting to see him again.

But Korekiyo wanted to see her. He tried every ritual, every psychic medium he could get ahold of. None of them--none of the ones who weren’t obvious pretenders, at least--could make contact with her, saying that she was closing herself off out of resentment.

Resentment. Korekiyo could use resentment. Resentment wasn’t apathy, after all. It was something that an appropriate ritual could latch on to.

That was how Korekiyo found himself kneeling on a wooden plank, iron cage and wooden dog weighing the space above him, trapping him in place. A thin staff rested beside him, ready to push the stone--a counterbalance to the loose, lever-like floorboard Korekiyo knelt on--out of the way should he need to escape the cage and abort the seance.

The details of the ritual had been transcribed by a woman who had lost her entire village to a vengeful lord. The cage, the statue, even the song were all drenched in resentful energy. If the Caged Child ritual couldn’t latch onto his sister’s spirit, nothing could.

Korekiyo knew several elements were missing. The ritual called for four people to say the chant and one to act as a spirit medium, but Korekiyo was the only one present. An imperfect ritual such as that was likely to unleash a curse, but possible contact with his sister was worth any risk.

And so, Korekiyo began to sing. There were no flashes of light, no wailing spirits, nothing to indicate a curse, even as the final words tumbled from his mouth.

Even worse than a curse, there was nothing. No spirit entering his body. No voice speaking on behalf of the deceased. Nothing.

His sister had shunned him, and there was nothing Korekiyo could do to gain her forgiveness.

\------

Kokichi had hardly enough time to reflect on the news channel’s inaccurate report before Ishiaki burst into his room, a stack of black blankets swaying in his arms.

“Saki’s doing some weird occult stuff with Hato. We’re gonna do something spooky to prank her, but you gotta hurry!” He tossed a blanket into Kokichi’s face and sprinted off down the hall.

Draping the blanket over his shoulders like a cape, Kokichi followed, his path leading him toward the mall’s rooftop gardens. The higher up Kokichi climbed, the more daffodils sprung up through cracks in the tiled floor. Even the highest floor’s busted-up escalator had been claimed by tentacles of climbing roses, whose scent filled the air with the smell of something sweet. The local gardening hobbyist must have gotten over-enthusiastic and decided to let nature take over the upper floors. Kinda weird, but what anyone else did with their own space wasn’t Kokichi’s business. 

Besides, with shimmering butterflies hovering over the sea of climbing roses, Kokichi had to admit that the plants--wild as they were--brought life to the often ghostlike DICE headquarters.

Two hooded figures waved to Kokichi: Ishiaki and Tai. The two had wrapped the black blankets around their heads and shoulders, half-shadowing their faces, making them look like villains from a creepy cult. Kokichi followed suit, draping his own blanket over his head and sneaking forward, stopping outside a door that read, “Gardening Tools” in Saki’s handwriting.

Ishiaki pressed a finger to his lips. No speaking. It would give up the prank to their target. Got it.

Then, Ishiaki pantomimed something else, involving lockpicking, sudden movements, and...mouths? Kokichi got the gist of it. The three cloaked pranksters would pick open the supply closet and spook the people inside. Easy enough. The lockpicking might be a bit of a challenge, but it was nothing Kokichi couldn’t pull off.

Hato’s monotone filtered out of the closet. Grinning, the three cloaked pranksters pressed their ears against the door.

“Saki, why do you need my help?”

“Welllllll, the ritual calls for two people. And I figured that you_ might _be willing to help!”

“Hm. What’s the ritual for?”

“Okay, so, check this out!” A rustling of paper, then Saki continued. “I’m trying to summon this!”

“Why does that man have a goat’s head for a face?”

“I dunno, but check out those _abs_!”

A summoning ritual. Suddenly, the purpose of the dark, ominous cloaks grew clear. 

“Hm, could the ritual summon him with a pigeon’s head instead of a goat’s?” Hato asked.

“Uh...maybe!”

“Let’s do it.” Kokichi had never heard Hato’s voice so resolute. 

“Kay! I’ll draw the pentagram. The book says that we need ‘five items of sentimental importance’ to put on the corners of the star.”

“A pentagram? Sounds sinister.”

“I know, right? Anyways, I only brought along the gardening gloves I had when I was a kid.” Fabric thumped onto the closet’s floor. “So, we’re gonna need four more items.”

Plastic crinkled, followed by the sound of a lot of round, hard somethings sloshing around. A bag of seeds, Kokichi guessed.

“Oh! Favorite foods! That’s right. Those’ll have sentimental value to any DICE member! Good thinking, Hato.”

Hato had put_ birdseed _onto the summoning circle?

“I think I have some carrots--Ah! Here we go. Only two things left!”

“Does it need to have sentimental value to _us_?” Hato asked. 

“Oh, good point! We could raid the fridge! I know we just stocked up on some of that off-brand grape Fanta Kokichi likes. It wouldn’t be too hard to make off with a bottle of it.”

They wouldn’t dare.

“Or we could ask Tai to make us some cupcakes,” Hato suggested.

“Omigod, Tai’s cupcakes are the_ best._” Saki stomach gurgled, loud enough that it could be heard even in the hallway outside. “Goddammit! Now I’m hungry! I’ll have to corner him later and have him make me some.”

Tai averted his gaze and rubbed at the back of his neck, a pink blush rising to his ears. The compliment must have gotten to his soft side.

“Hm, but the kitchen is far away,” Hato said. “Would these work?”

“The hell are those?”

“Eggshells and down feathers from Martha and George’s first clutch of chicks. They’re both artifacts of big life milestones. If we’re going to summon a man-pigeon, we should fill the pentagram with as many things related to pigeons as possible.”

“Uh...kay, throw them in. Do you just...carry those around?”

“Hm.” The sound was strong enough that it probably accompanied a nod of affirmation. Of course Hato did.

“Then we need some candles,” Saki said. The characteristic _shhk, shhk, fwoosh_ of a lighter sounded. “And then we just need to do the incantation! Here, I’ll do the complicated hand-symbol-magic-gesture-y stuff. All you’ve gotta do is read the chant!”

Kokichi winced. Saki was one of the newer members of DICE. She obviously didn’t know yet.

“Hm, is this chant in English?” Hato said.

“Yep! Pretty cool, right? Don’t worry. You don’t have to know what any of the words mean. As long as you can pronounce them, the ritual should work.”

“Ah, Saki...I think I should tell you that I can read English about as well as I can read Japanese.”

The joke--if it could even be called that--had been delivered in Hato’s characteristic monotone. And, of course, it had flown right over Saki’s head.

“Really? That’s so cool! I wish I was that fluent in a foreign language. Lucky duck. Glad I picked you to help me out with this!”

Hato sighed. “What I meant is that I can’t read. Period.”

“Oh.”

Yep. Dead silence. About right, given the situation.

“Okay! That just means we’ll have to switch!” Saki said.

“Hm?”

“Yeah, the book has a lot of nice diagrams for the hand gesture-y stuff. So you do that, and I’ll do the chant!” Paper rustled. Whatever reference book they were using must have changed hands. “Think that’ll work?”

“Mhm.”

“Perfect! Let’s get started!”

The three blanket-covered figures exchanged a glance. Finally. Time to begin their prank.

Saki started her chant. When she was roughly halfway through, Kokichi stuck his lock picks in the closet’s keyhole and started working at its pins. The _click click _was quiet, but not so quiet that the girls couldn’t pick up on it. 

Saki “eeped,” but she didn’t stop her chant, although a waver crept into her voice as she continued.

Ishiaki took that as his signal to hammer on the door, moaning guttural noises that wouldn’t have been out of place in a zombie-themed horror film. 

Kokichi had to admire Saki’s guts. She didn’t so much as stutter in her chant, even as her pitch raised to a steady note of worry.

“I think it’s working,” Hato stated.

Saki raised her voice to a shout. There was an air of finality to it. They were almost at the ritual’s end.

With a final _clack_, the lock twisted. Kokichi slammed the door open, stepping into the closet, whispering “oooooo” and swaying side to side like a ghost. Ishiaki lumbered forward, arms outstretched, still doing his zombie-esque routine. Meanwhile, Tai shoved past the both of them, arms raised above his head, and shouted, “BOO!” so loudly that it shook Kokichi’s bones. Clearly, they’d all had different ideas of what “spooky” meant.

Still, it was enough to scare Saki. She screamed and crawled backwards until she hit the wall.

Hato, as ever, was unfazed. She strode up to Kokichi and flipped the hood of his makeshift cloak back, revealing his face. “I don’t think any of these are pigeon-men,” she said.

Saki’s wide-eyed expression morphed into a scowl. “Goddammit! For a minute, I thought the ritual had actually worked!” She sighed. “Still though, good one, guys! You actually had me a little scared there.”

“More than a little scared, I’d say!” Ishiaki said.

“Shut it,” Saki retorted. She pushed herself to her feet, brushing dust off her uniform. “Anyways, that was a total bust. Tai, you wanna go make some cupcakes?”

Before Tai could accept her offer, Kokichi interjected. “But, Sakiiiiiiii, I need to tell you about my next heist!”

Saki scowled. “Didn’t you just get back from one of those? Can’t it wait?”

“Nope! Because the next one’s tomorrow morning, and you’re coming along with me!”

Saki shrugged. “No thanks. I don’t really care about valuable rings, or cars, or precious gems, or anything like that. Unless it’s a heist involving gardening or supernatural stuff, you can count me out.”

“But--”

“Don’t care.”

Kokichi frowned. “I-I can’t believe you guys. You’re being so rude to your _democratically elected _Supreme Leader.”

“I don’t remember electing you,” Saki said.

“Yeah, you just kinda started calling yourself ‘Supreme Leader’ one day,” Ishiaki added.

“So cruel. N-None of you--” Kokichi sniffled. A single tear ran down his cheek. “--respect me e-even a little bit!”

“Maybe it’s because you whine like a little bitch,” Saki offered.

Oh.

So he ‘whined like a little bitch,’ did he?

“WAHHHHH!” Kokichi said, whining so loud that Saki flinched and covered her ears.

“Kokichi, shut the fuck up!” she shouted.

Kokichi turned the waterworks off immediately, pulling a grin back onto his face. “You gonna listen to my heist plans?” 

“No.”

Kokichi took a deep breath and--

“Wait. Wait,” Saki said. “I’ll listen. Just let me get a goddamn cupcake first, okay Kokichi?”

“Deal!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the most part, I’ve shied away from giving the OCs (and DICE members) distinctive personalities, for fear that they’d overshadow the main characters. Some of their personalities are blander than necessary because of this. But, the reception to them has been so positive that I’m just gonna go ahead and do my best to give them all memorable, distinctive personalities and not stop until I start getting complaints. Sound good?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Hachiko is a dog who met his master at Shibuya Station every day after his commute. One day, his master died, but Hachiko continued to wait at the station every day for nearly ten years, until he himself died. 
> 
> There are a few statues commemorating him and his loyalty, the most famous of which is in front of Shibuya Station.

Saki flopped onto the food court’s lone, moth-eaten sofa, chocolate cupcake in hand. Tai and Hato bustled around the kitchen behind her, clearing off countertops and rinsing out measuring cups.

“Okay, Kokichi. Let’s get this over with. What are you gonna steal?” Saki said.

“Well…” Kokichi took a long lick of his cupcake’s frosting, leisurely kicking his feet onto the coffee table between them. Saki’s irritated expression grew more and more annoyed as the seconds ticked by. 

Finally, when she looked ready to strangle him, Kokichi grinned and said, “I’m gonna steal a dog statue!”

Just enough of Saki’s anger dissipated to keep her from murder. “You are_ not_ stealing Hachiko. He was a good boy, and he deserves to be respected.”

“I wasn’t planning to, but that is an absolutely _genius_ idea, Saki!” Kokichi pulled a wrinkled sheet of paper out of his pocket and, speaking aloud, he scribbled down, “List of things to steal: #1...Statue...of...Ha...chi--”

Saki snatched the sheet of paper out of his hands. “No.”

“But--”

“No. Just get to the point. What are you _actually_ gonna steal?”

Kokichi let his grin fall from his face, and he made his shoulders droop. “Well, this is kinda personal, but I guess I have no choice but to tell you if I want you to help me out.” Kokichi swallowed hard. His lower lip trembled. “Y-y’see, my mom...she…”

“...Kokichi?”

Kokichi lowered his head, letting his hair fall in front of his face. His breath caught in a barely-hidden sob, and he forced his eyes to fill with tears. “Ah...s-sorry. I shouldn’t really…”

Saki placed a hand on his shoulder. “Hey...uh...you can, like...talk about it? If you want?”

“Ah, when I was little, my mom...kinda...died. S-so I--” A sharp intake of breath, almost like a sobbing hiccup. “--I wanted to steal this dog statue. It’s supposed to be good for seances, and I...I really want to see her again.”

Saki had sympathy painted on her face. She really needed to get better at spotting his tricks.

“I-I just want to talk to her...I wanna tell her that...th-that...that dying like that was a total dick move!”

Saki first went wide-eyed. Then, her eyebrows furrowed together in a glare. “You little--” she hissed. She tried to grab him, but Kokichi had already flung himself over the side of the couch.

He made a mad dash for the kitchen, and, spotting Tai loading mixing bowls back into the cupboards, ran up to him with his best teary pout on his face, wailing, “Taiiiii! Saki’s bullying me!”

Saki sprinted into the kitchen, and Kokichi hid himself behind Tai, trembling like a scared child. Garnering pity--one of the few times his childlike looks worked in his favor.

Tai didn’t fall for the ruse, though. He glanced between Saki and Kokichi and shrugged. “You’re our Supreme Leader. You can handle whatever she dishes out.” He stepped aside, leaving Kokichi completely exposed.

Saki’s and Kokichi’s eyes locked. She lunged for him, but he dodged and scrambled up the countertop, not pausing until he crouched safe atop the fridge.

Saki squinted up at him. “How the fuck…? Kokichi, come down here so I can kick your ass.”

Kokichi stuck his tongue out at her.

Saki huffed. “Well, guess I’ll just have to…” She opened the fridge. A shuffling of drawers, followed by a heavy_ thunk _and a clattering of metal cans.

No. She wouldn’t dare.

Saki stepped into view, holding the drawer that housed Kokichi’s soda stash.

“Guess these are all mine, then~” she said, a sickly-sweet smile on her face.

“How dare you! Favorite foods are sacred! Tai, Hato, do you see this? It’s sacrilege!”

“I’m staying out of this,” Tai said.

“Hm.” Hato nodded her agreement.

“You gonna come down?” Saki said, rattling the drawer of cans, taunting him.

“You know, I don’t usually negotiate with _terrorists,_ but, since you’ve taken my sweet, precious,_ innocent _soda hostage, I’m going to make an exception. What are your demands?”

“For you to get your ass down here.”

“Nope! But I can offer you something else~” Kokichi said.

“What could you have that I’d want? I already told you--”

“Caged Dog Village. Dog God. Ever heard of them?”

There it was. The leverage that would sway Saki into becoming his accomplice.

“A-are you serious?” she said, a grin rising to her face. 

“If you had just _listened_ to me, I would have told you all about my heist plans!” Kokichi said. “But noooooo. You had to get mad all over a couple harmless lies.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. We’re gonna steal super-ultra-spooky seance ritual stuff? From the super-ultra-cute Korekiyo Shinguji?”

From what little Kokichi had seen of the guy on the news, “creepy” fit him a lot better than “cute.” But to each their own.

“We’re only doing the heist if you return my soda, unharmed, to its home in the refrigerator, Miss_ Terrorist._” 

Saki gave an exaggerated groan. “Fiiiine.” She placed the drawer back within the fridge. “There. Your soda has been returned safe and sound, Mister Hostage Negotiator.”

“Great! See you tomorrow morning! Be ready for the heist of your lifetime!”

“Sounds like a plan.”

\------

Shuichi’s phone dinged, but he ignored it. With a twist of nausea forming in his gut, he realized that it was probably Kaede, trying to make contact with him. 

He didn’t want to face her. Even though she’d forgiven him, the thought of her still made guilt rise in his chest.

Besides, he had work to do. The sun hadn’t yet risen, but, with a single question burning in his mind, there was no way that Shuichi could get back to sleep. 

Bichromatic powder. Blacklight. Red dry-erase marker. Once he had all his tools, Shuichi laid them across his desk. Ouma’s calling card rested in the center, squarely within the glare of Shuichi’s desk lamp. Its surface had no marks, no stains, no deformations--at least that Shuichi could see with his naked eyes.

There had to be a clue to it. Ouma wouldn’t have given it to Shuichi otherwise. But what was it?

He slipped a pair of gloves on. On the surface, his actions seemed certain, professional even. In reality, they were anything but. Shuichi was just using simple tricks he’d picked up while tackling infidelity cases. He’d count himself lucky if he found anything resembling a clue.

First, fingerprints. Shuichi had been careful to only hold the card by its edges so that his own wouldn’t contaminate any possible evidence. Anything that showed up had to be Ouma’s.

He sprinkled bichromatic power across the card’s surface. Then, he brushed the excess away. Nothing. He tried it with the other side. Still nothing. Despite the risks the thief took in taunting Shuichi, he was careful not to let a shred of evidence slip otherwise.

Next, the blacklight. During his infidelity cases, Shuichi had used it to look for...rather nasty pieces of evidence. For the card, it had more use in revealing invisible messages--specifically, those that glowed under UV light.

Shuichi flicked the desk lamp off and the blacklight on. No messages appeared.

Sighing, he moved on to the marker. Using his lightest touch, he traced over each of the card’s laminated sides. In theory, an indentation would either show as a white mark, where the marker failed to pool any ink, or as a red mark, where the ink had pooled and refused to be removed.

The tactic was far from an exact science. He’d adapted it from the trick where one would lightly pencil over a sheet of paper to reveal a hidden message. But the card’s laminated surface refused to hold pencil marks, so Shuichi had to improvise.

He covered the entire card in ink, but no white marks appeared. When he brushed the ink away, no red remained.

Complete failure. Of course. What else had he expected?

But there had to be a clue, right? Why else would Ouma do something so strange?

His phone dinged again. What could Kaede--

No, on second thought, it couldn’t be Kaede. He hadn’t given her his phone number, and, when Shuichi had returned home, he hadn’t been able to locate hers. It had either been lost or stolen in the chaos of the heist.

It wasn’t too unfortunate, all things considered. At least it gave him an excuse not to face her again.

Shuichi picked up the phone. Mr. Nagamura had been the one texting him.

_ Inspector Nagamura: Hey, we’ve got a new lead. Can you come down to HQ?_

_Inspector Nagamura: Nevermind, we’ll have to go to the crime scene regardless. I’ll pick you up. _

_Inspector Nagamura: I’m in front of your house. Let’s go._

Shuichi glanced to the time. It was five in the morning. Was Mr. Nagamura insane?

Shuichi was tempted to just go to bed. And if it got him fired, what of it? He was only doing police work to appease his uncle. Being let go would be a weight off his shoulders.

But…

Shuichi’s eyes lingered on Ouma’s calling card.

...why?

There was so much to the thief that Shuichi didn’t understand: Why did he steal? Why pull such reckless tricks? Why take such an interest in Shuichi?

The more he learned about Ouma, the more questions he had. And it seemed that the only way to answer them was to chase after him.

Shuichi was in far beyond his depth. He had no chance of catching a professional phantom thief with his meager detective skills. Even so, the idea of chasing after a criminal still made Shuichi reflexively grasp the brim of his hat. 

And yet, it was impossible to imagine Ouma’s eyes being filled with anything other than admiration.

_Inspector Nagamura: You coming?_

Tight cords of nervousness rose within Shuichi’s chest, but, even so, he donned his jacket, shot off a reply to Mr. Nagamura, and sprinted out the door.

Maybe, just maybe, pursuing Ouma would be different. 

\------

“Oh wow! Are those lilies? They’re so pretty!”

Kokichi scowled. They’d hardly made it to the doorbell, and Saki had already started fangirling over a bunch of flowers. And just when she’d--thankfully--stopped fangirling about Korekiyo Shinguji.

“Do you think Korekiyo likes gardening? Omigod. That would be. So. Perfect.”

Goddamnit.

“You gonna need help with the wedding, or have you already got that planned out?” Kokichi deadpanned.

“What? No, no. It’s not like that!” Saki’s blush betrayed her lie.

“Haha, someone has a crush~”

Saki glared at him. “That’s rich, coming from you. Didn’t you make out with some detective guy literally yesterday?”

“That’s a lie! And also not important. What_ is _important is our cover story!” Kokichi said, smoothing out the wrinkles in his school uniform.

“Just gonna change the subject on me?”

“So! Saki! What’s our cover story? C’mon, we practiced this!” Kokichi said, flashing an innocent smile.

“Yep...okay,” Saki sighed. “We’re from our school’s Anthropology Club, and we wanna conduct an interview with the famous--”

“More like semi-famous.”

“--_famous_ Korekiyo Shinguji! Also, for the record, no one’s gonna buy that. I mean, take a look at us.”

The two of them were a mismatched pair. Kokichi’s black school uniform had little--if anything--in common with Saki’s light blue one. No one with eyes would believe that they came from the same high school.

“Don’t worry!” Kokichi said. “Just say the lie with confidence, and everyone will believe you!”

“That’s funny, because you say everything with confidence, and I don’t believe half the shit that comes out of your mouth.”

Kokichi opened his mouth to retort, but, before he could respond, a police car rolled into his peripheral vision. Instinctually, he relaxed, smoothed his body language, and tried to look like he was involved in a perfectly unsuspicious conversation.

But then, he spotted an all-too-familiar Emo Hat, riding within that car.

“Shit.”

\------

The sun had begun to peek over the horizon, but the roads still had a heavy blanket of darkness covering them. The dim light and steady thrumming of the police car would usually have been enough to put Shuichi to sleep--if his mind wasn’t running at a thousand miles an hour. Just what was Ouma up to?

“Sorry to grab you so early in the morning. Our lead didn’t show up until ‘bout half an hour ago. It’s…” Mr. Nagamura’s eyes fluttered shut, and his hands went limp on the steering wheel. The car started to drift into the opposite lane.

“Ah! Mr. Nagamura?” Shuichi shook his shoulder. Mr. Nagamura jerked awake.

“It’s...it’s a weird case, too,” Mr. Nagamura continued, as if he hadn’t just fallen asleep at the wheel of a moving vehicle. “Wanted to check out the scene before things got messed up. Don’t want to...to lose any evidence.”

“Are you sure you should be driving?”

Mr. Nagamura yawned. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got a buncha energy drinks in the back seat. Pass me some of them, will ya?”

Shuichi reached into the back seat. His hands found a pile of glass bottles, all full of a dull, brown liquid. He handed one to Mr. Nagamura who swallowed it down in a single gulp.

“Okay...good...can you hand me like...five more?”

“Ah...it’s probably not good to drink so many. Actually, I think the warning label says...”

“Warning schmarning. Just pass me some more.”

Shuichi hesitated, but, when Mr. Nagamura’s head started sinking toward his chest, he realized it was probably best--for both their safeties--if Mr. Nagamura was alert enough to focus on the road.

“So, Mr. Nagamura...” Shuichi began as the senior detective downed his last shot of energy drink, “...you mentioned a lead? Could you explain?”

“Yeah, The Crowned Horse did a heist two days ago. Day before he robbed that theater’s crowd, he busted into someone’s house and stole this old...ritual thing. Think it was a dog statue. What’s weird is he didn’t advertise his heist or anything. Didn’t even send his calling card until afterward.”

“Hm…” Something didn’t add up. Ouma had said that he’d give Shuichi time to prepare before the theater’s heist. Add the altered, more inconspicuous M.O. and it started to look like the theater had been nothing more than a diversion.

But then, why go to such great lengths to pull off this heist without catching Shuichi’s attention? What was so important about a dog statue?

As much as Shuichi ruminated on that question, answers eluded him. Before long, Mr. Nagamura screeched the car to a park just outside a house--the place that Ouma had stolen the statue from, Shuichi guessed. 

“We’re here. C’mon, Saihara. Let’s hop to it!”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Lilies prefer alkaline (a.k.a. pH greater than 7) soils.

The Shuingujis’ home was a peculiar target. In the past, Ouma had robbed many strange locales, including museums, mansions, and high-class parties. What set the Shunguji’s house apart was how _mundane _it was. Granted, the house boasted a well-kept yard, complete with flowering garden, and the house itself was far larger than necessary for the few people that lived inside--all signs of a well-off family. But it was a far cry from a mansion, and it didn’t showcase any of the flashy displays of wealth that had characterized Ouma’s previous targets. 

So why rob this of all places?

Mr. Nagamura had an ear-to-ear grin plastered on his face as they marched up to the house. “Say Saihara, isn’t it a wonderful day today?” The words had a rapid cadence to them, as if Mr. Nagamura wanted to get them all out, but didn’t have enough patience to do it in more than one breath.

“I’m not sure I’d call this ‘day.’ The sun isn’t even fully up yet.”

“Well, whatever it is, it sure is wonderful!” Despite his manic grin, Mr. Nagamura’s hands trembled, and the whites of his eyes were stained pink with bloodshot veins. It was a safe bet that he’d had too many energy drinks.

“Anyway, ‘m gonna check around for neighborhood watch cameras--could give us some good evidence. Think you can interview the Shungujis on your own?” Mr. Nagamura said.

“Ah, but--”

“Excellent! You’re wonderful! Knew I could count on you, Saihara!” With that, Mr. Nagamura turned on his heel and marched down the street.

...At least interviewing the Shungujis would let Shuichi see the crime scene up close. If Shuichi could find even a single clue, it could bring him one step nearer to the thief.

And maybe, Shuichi could start getting answers to all the “whys” behind Ouma’s strange behavior.

\------

Kokichi pressed his back against the house’s wall, straining his ears in the direction of the front porch._ Of course _Saihara had picked now of all times to show up. Talk about inconvenient…

Then again, it was a rival’s job to be inconvenient, so Kokichi couldn’t really hold it against him. 

Saki was still on the front porch. Saihara wouldn’t recognize her as an accomplice, so she could head him off, leaving Kokichi free to do some covert investigation.

The sound of Saki and Saihara exchanging greetings floated through the air. Saki introduced herself with their Anthropology Club lie, and Saihara--tone steady, with an air of professionalism to it--introduced himself as a detective on The Crowned Horse’s case.

Hm...Saihara seemed more sure of himself than when Kokichi had last seen him. Had he grown more confident, or was there something about Kokichi that triggered a sometimes blushing, oftentimes eye-averting hesitancy within his rival?

“Ah, Miss Saki,” Saihara began, “Would you happen to know anything about The Crowned Horse’s heist? Our lead is that he stole from this house.”

So the detectives were just as misinformed as the news was…

Saki, to her credit, managed to play things cool, “Haha, I like, totally don’t follow much about that guy! I think I saw some news articles with pictures of him, and he was, like, totally scrawny! Talk about disappointing. There’s no way I could, like, care about a guy unless he’s got an awesome six-pack.”

She was playing up the ditziness a bit much and making herself look shallow in the process. But, at least her excuse seemed kinda believable, even if her act skirted the edge of unrealistically stereotypical.

“Are you sure you didn’t hear about it at all?” Shuichi said. “It happened two days ago, and if you’ve been in contact with the Shungujis before this--”

“Wait. Two days ago?” Saki’s voice had gone low. Almost hostile. Kokichi’s lie had been exposed.

“Hold on, if it’s drama involving the Shingujis, then I like, totally have to look this up!” Saki said, ditzy persona back in place. 

Kokichi’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

Each of Kokichi’s muscles tensed. He waited three ear-pounding heartbeats, silent breath caught at the back of his throat. When Shuichi didn’t mention hearing something suspicious, when no footsteps made their way toward him, Kokichi slipped it out.

_Saki: So you dragged me out here to do a stupid “heist” and it turns out youve already robbed these guys???_

That was the problem. Kokichi _hadn’t _stolen from the Shingujis. He hadn’t even known they’d existed until yesterday when the news channel had come on, claiming that The Crowned Horse had made off with their creepy dog statue.

Clearly, there was an impostor at work.

Kokichi knew what would happen if he told Saki the truth: She’d cover for him, and Kokichi--with a bit of trickery--could begin his own investigation with little interference. 

But what kind of liar would he be if he did that? Especially when the impostor was offering him such sweet bragging rights!

He sent off an enthusiastic, “Yep! I lied” to Saki and waited for her response to roll in, knowing full well that his lie would upend his plans of investigating the impostor.

And it would make his and Saihara’s game a lot more interesting.

_Saki: Consider this payback for luring me here under false pretenses_

_Saki: You little shit_

“Oh, haha, wait! I, totally, like, just remembered something!” Saki said. “Come to think of it, I saw a totally super-duper suspicious guy, like, wandering around the neighborhood a little while ago!”

“Oh?” Aside from that small vocalization, Saihara was silent. All of Kokichi’s instincts urged him to peek around the corner, see what reaction Saihara had to the new information, but he held back. 

Still, did Saihara hold anger in his eyes? Fire in his gaze? Did the knowledge of Kokichi’s presence send a mix of giddy butterflies and worried knots racing through his chest?

“So, the guy I saw was, like, kinda short. I totally thought he was a kid at first,” Saki said.

Wow. Just rub it in.

“But he was dressed real weird. He had a checkered bandana thing on. Wore this all-white uniform. That sound like your guy?”

“Hmm. I can’t say that for sure. The Crowned Horse knows how to be stealthy, and he’s used decoys before. It doesn’t make sense for him to be so conspicuous. You might have seen some sort of diversion. Maybe an accomplice...dressed up to look like him?”

Ah, so Saihara had started getting wise to his tricks.

“If The Crowned Horse did orchestrate a diversion, then that means he’s probably nearby. He might be trying to draw attention away from his target--which is most likely something in the house,” Saihara continued. His voice was sure, a far cry from the blushing hesitancy he’d had when Kokichi had lured him into that alleyway.

He wasn’t holding back. The realization sent a shudder up Kokichi’s spine. Before long, he’d be a rival with the skills and confidence to match each of Kokichi’s tricks.

And then their game would _really _start.

But, right then, Kokichi didn’t have time to dwell on the future. He still wore his school uniform--something that, if identified, could bring Saihara hunting him down on his home turf.

That was too valuable a clue. Kokichi couldn’t just hand that out. Saihara needed to _earn _it.

With a plan forming in his mind, Kokichi slipped his lockpicks out of his pocket and made his way behind the Shingujis’ house.

\------

Ouma was close.

Shuichi flicked his eyes side to side, keeping his head forward, trying to not look like he was looking. He half-expected to see a pair of admiring eyes peeking from behind a wall, but Ouma--if he were even close enough to see Shuichi--was well-hidden.

How near was he? What was he planning? Was he observing Shuichi’s movements?

The pressure of being watched rested on the back of Shuichi’s neck. Even though a glance behind him proved the feeling a figment of his imagination, it still sent a tingling chill up his arms. If he weren’t wearing a long-sleeved jacket, their gooseflesh would have been plainly visible.

No previous case had ever had him so on edge--although, that wasn’t the right way to describe it. It wasn’t the common, burning kind of nervousness that left Shuichi’s thoughts crashing and tangling into each other, jumbling up his mind. No, this nervousness left his heart quick, his muscles tense, and his thoughts clear and sharp, like the edges of shattered glass.

For the first time in a long time, Shuichi felt like the detective he’d been before the murder case. He may have never been anything more than an apprentice detective, but he could gather clues, weigh evidence, and do a thorough investigation. 

And maybe, that would be enough to begin understanding Ouma.

Which brought Shuichi back to the “why.” Specifically, why was Ouma hanging around the scene of the crime two days after his heist? There_ could _still be valuables available for theft, sure, but why not grab those the first time?

Something strange was going on.

Shuichi stared at Saki out of the corner of his eye. The information she’d presented had been a little too convenient. Could she have an ulterior motive? Was she working for Ouma?

But then why mention him? Why give information that would make Shuichi suspicious?

“Oh!” Saki slapped her forehead. “I, like, totally forgot to ring the doorbell. Haha, like, I absolutely can-_not _remember to do, like, anything!”

Besides, why would Ouma ally himself with someone so...there was no polite way to put it: Airheaded.

With the push of the doorbell, a faint _dong_ rumbled through the air. A shuffling of footsteps, then the door creaked ajar, giving Shuichi a glimpse of a half-shadowed figure, with only their willowy frame and long hair visible. Even so, Shuichi could feel their eyes boring into him. He took a step back.

“Hmm, a detective. I see. What is your business here?” The words held a note of coldness within them, yet Shuichi couldn’t tell whether the figure found him suspicious or was just antisocial.

“Hey there! I’m completely and totally _not_ associated with this guy!” Saki had instantly picked up on the figure’s hostility toward Shuichi. Maybe she wasn’t as oblivious as she seemed.

“Name’s Saki. And, for the record, I think your anthropology work is super-duper cool,” she added, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

The figure--identifiable as a tall young man, about Shuichi’s age--flicked his eyes between Saki and the detective. Although it was hard to tell, given the mask covering his lower face, Shuichi guessed that his mouth had dropped slightly ajar.

“Ah...very well. But I really must ask: Why are you here?” The question was addressed to Shuichi, but Saki cut in.

“Welllllll, I kinda-sorta wanted to do an interview with you about your anthropology work, Korekiyo--”

“Shinguji. We are hardly acquaintances, much less friends. Now, detective--”

“_Anyways_,” Saki continued. “Your gardens look really pretty! I’m surprised you went for a bunch of lilies, but they’re super-duper cute! How’d you get them to bloom so early in the season? What’s your trick?”

Korekiyo glared at Saki and slammed the door with a resounding_ thud_.

That was...a bit rude.

Saki’s posture fell. “It’s okay,” she muttered. “There’s still hope. Maybe he’s just tsundere.”

Whoever this girl was, she obviously watched too much anime.

Footsteps--a different set than Korekiyo’s--pattered behind the door. It creaked open once again, this time revealing a man with crow’s feet around his eyes and streaks of gray through his hair.

“I _knew_ I heard Kiyo talking to someone,” he muttered, “Ah, hello, I’m Mr. Shinguji. Let’s see, a detective--oh, wonderful, we’ve been expecting you--and who are you, young miss?”

“Oh, I’m from my school’s Anthropology Club, and I wanna interview the famous Korekiyo Shunguji!”

“‘Famous?’” A glimmer of pride sparked in Mr. Shinguji’s eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “Well, I’m glad to hear you think so highly of my son. Come in! Come in! I’ll make you something. Tea? A snack? I just took a pie out of the oven. Would you like a slice once it cools?”

When it came to Korekiyo, apparently the apple fell _very _far from the tree.

Shuichi and Saki stepped inside. The smell of cinnamon wafted from the kitchen. Bright family photos hung from every wall, and on every table rested a vase of lilies.

Mr. Shinguji tried to usher them into the kitchen, but Shuichi stopped him. “Ah, if it’s all right, I’d like to start my investigation as soon as possible.”

“Oh, of course! I’d recommend searching the basement for clues--that’s where the statue was before the thief stole it. Hang a left, then take the stairs down. Can’t miss it.”

Shuichi thanked him and walked away, the sound of Saki asking--really, begging--to help the Shingujis tend to their flowers and maybe-also-on-the-side give her some gardening tips fading behind him.

Above Shuichi’s head, a floorboard screeched. A _click_, then the lights shut off.

Under normal conditions, Shuichi might have assumed that something had tripped the circuit breaker. But he was on Ouma’s case. Even though the thief had little reason to revisit the crime scene, foul play couldn’t be ruled out.

A shadow passed in front of Shuichi’s vision, barely creaking the steps as it flew down to the basement. Too small to be one of the Shingujis. Light-footed enough that there weren’t many people it_ could _be.

...Ouma?

Shuichi half-tripped, half-threw himself down the steps. His feet slipped, his body crashed against the walls, but he managed to fling the door open, revealing--

An empty basement. Nothing more than concrete walls, an exposed pipe, a wadded-up sheet--nothing that could be hidden behind.

Shuichi raked his gaze across the room. Was Ouma camouflaged against a wall? Behind him on the staircase? Hiding on the ceiling? All would be unusual for a normal thief, but Ouma was a phantom thief. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing he’d done.

No use. There was no one else in the room. Just concrete walls, a pipe, a sheet, and...a closet!

The cracks around its edge were so thin that it blended seamlessly with the wall. Shuichi would have missed it, were it not for the gleam of a steel disc where its doorknob used to be. The only place Ouma could hide.

Heart pounding in his throat, Shuichi reached for the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we all still good with the OC screentime? I’m not overdoing it?


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No fun fact this week!

Before Shuichi could touch it, the closet creaked open. Resting, half shrouded in a coat of shadow were stacked shelves, plastic bins, and wiry cobwebs. A bare bulb swung from the ceiling; Movement that betrayed Ouma’s presence.

The thief was nowhere to be seen, so Shuichi took a hesitant step forward. Then another. He reached for the lightbulb’s string, but something--a shoe?--jutted from beneath the shelves. It hooked around his leg, and he fell, crashing to the ground.

“Nee-heehee! I was wondering when you’d show up, my beloved Saihara.” The light clicked on, but the sudden brightness only served to sting Shuichi’s eyes.

Ouma’s voice came from...above him? Beside him? He tried to roll over, push himself to his hands and knees, but Ouma was quicker, tackling Shuichi and pinning his arms to either side of his head.

When Shuichi’s vision adjusted enough for him to see, he found Ouma’s wicked grin staring down at him.

“Haha, you look suuuper tired!” Ouma released one of Shuichi’s arms, using his now-unoccupied hand to trace beneath Shuichi’s eyes--where Shuichi surely sported dark bags. “Did’ya stay up all night thinking about me, detective?”

Ouma’s voice had gone low. With the thief’s proximity and touch combined, Shuichi counted himself lucky that the thief straddled his chest and not...somewhere lower down.

Cheeks glowing red-hot, Shuichi turned his head away.

“Aww, still doing that whole not-looking-me-in-the-eyes thing? You know, you never told me why you think I’m so scary.”

“Ah, n-no, it’s not--” Shuichi chanced a look at Ouma’s eyes. His expression held disappointment--irritation, even. Yet, hiding in the back of his irises was still a glimmer of admiration.

As Ouma had proven time and time again, Shuichi didn’t have any reason to be afraid.

Shuichi’s gaze wandered down to Ouma’s abdomen. His eyes widened, and he was sure that Ouma felt the muscles tensing in his wrist.

Ouma huffed. “So you finally noticed. Took you long enough.”

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt!?”

“Well, it’s not like I get to do lots of eye-catching or flamboyant things when I’m stuck in the closet, so I have to make the most of whatever opportunities I get!”

“I...what?” Shuichi tried to parse through Ouma’s words, but it was hard to get his thoughts in order when the curve of Ouma’s abdomen guided his gaze down to--

Shuichi forced his eyes back up to Ouma’s face and surreptitiously tested Ouma’s grip on his arm. The thief wasn’t weak, exactly, but his thin frame obviously hadn’t seen a proper meal in a while. Given their positions, it would be hard--but not impossible--for Shuichi to throw him off.

“That was a lie, by the way. I’m _actually_ having you do me a huge, huge, favor!”

“And...what sort of favor am I doing, exactly?” Shuichi could have fought the thief, but there was a good chance of his adversary trying to escape if he caused too much trouble. Shuichi couldn’t allow that. Despite Ouma’s constant lies, there was always a chance the thief would let slip a truth--something Shuichi could use to start piecing together the puzzle that was Ouma.

“Wellll, y’know how I have an evil organization? The one with over 9000 members?”

“...You’ve mentioned it.”

“Yeah...turns out dozens of my henchmen are coming for my head. Which is totally unfair! I let them have all the food, sleep, and sex they want, and, when they started getting cavities because they choose to eat nothing but soda and cupcakes, I gave them great dental plans like the kind, benevolent, Evil Supreme Leader I am!”

Since when did evil henchmen eat nothing but soda and _cupcakes_?

“And did they thank me? Nooooo. It’s all ‘mutiny’ this and ‘rebellion’ that,” Ouma continued. “Anyways, sometimes my organization’s Supreme Leaders get decapitated and their heads thrown in the ocean. That’s why I need someone who can identify my body without its head!” Ouma’s eyes were far too bright and his voice was far too cheerful for someone supposedly discussing his own demise.

Although Ouma’s claim was closer in tone to a joke, the image it presented still made Shuichi’s stomach twist. 

“Wait...why wouldn’t they just throw the whole body in the ocean?” Shuichi said.

“Tradition! Something, something, warding evil spirits. Now, if we’re gonna do this whole ‘memorizing what my naked body looks like’ thing, we’ll need to--” Ouma started fumbling with his belt.

“Ah! You really don’t need to do that!”

Ouma hesitated, cocking his head to the side with an expression that Shuichi would have called “confusion” on anyone more honest. “Huh? But this--” Ouma gestured to his chest. “--Is only half my body. If you don’t know what the rest looks like, you’ll only be able to declare me half-dead! And I don’t wanna come back as a gross zombie because some detective couldn’t do his job right.”

“That’s not how that--that’s not how _anything_ works!”

“Eh? I’m surprised you don’t wanna see me naked. Wouldn’t you want to make sure that the mean, scary, phantom thief isn’t carrying any weapons on him?”

Shuichi hadn’t even considered that. Thieves were often armed, but Ouma had never carried weapons, had he?

That wasn’t the question that came out of Shuichi’s mouth. There were other, more confusing--and more pressing--questions at hand.

“You already robbed this place two days ago. Why are you here?” Shuichi asked.

Ouma’s grin widened. “That’s easy! I wanted to be alone and half-naked with my beloved rival!”

Shuichi didn’t buy it. Ouma was a liar, and Shuichi had seen this trick before.

“You’re trying to distract me,” Shuichi said.

“Hey, you were the one pretending not to stare at my crotch earlier. Give me a bit of credit! I’m doing a lot better than ‘trying’ to distract you.”

“I-I wasn’t staring at--”

“Y’know, for a detective whose job it is to uncover the truth, you sure tell a lot of lies.” 

Shuichi refused to argue any more. Instead, he cast his gaze around the closet, searching for signs of an accomplice, an escape route,_ something_ that would give him a hint as to Ouma’s goal.

“That girl. She said her name was Saki. Is she your accomplice, Ouma?”

“Huh? She the girl you were talking to near the front door? I heard a bit of your conversation, and...seriously, Saihara? I know that my organization hires bed-shitting literal bird-brains, but c’mon! That ditz? We have _some_ standards.” Kokichi bent low, eyes flicking to Shuichi’s lips. “Now, my beloved Saihara--”

“AIYEEEEE!”

A woman’s scream. From somewhere outside the house.

Shuichi’s muscles tensed. Ouma’s grip tightened around his wrist, but the thief jerked away from him, staring in the direction of the sound. The lightheartedness drained from his expression. “...Saki?”

Shuichi had just enough time to register that the girl actually_ was_ Ouma’s accomplice before the thief leapt off him, flinging the closet door open and dashing for the staircase. Shuichi scrambled after him--but not in an attempt to catch him. Whatever had caused that scream, Ouma obviously found it more important than taunting Shuichi.

Ouma had never passed up an opportunity to get under Shuichi’s skin. Add the thief’s sudden change in demeanor, and that scream could only mean one thing:

Danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <s>I make gay jokes because I am a gay joke.</s>
> 
> Sorry for the puns. They were in a closet. I had to.
> 
> Also, sorry for the short chapter, but I like to think I’m making up for it with a faster update schedule.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact’s at the end of the chapter this week!
> 
> Also, shoutout to draw_thy_sword for beta reading this chapter. Love ya, fam!

The two cleared the top of the staircase with Shuichi a mere step behind the thief.

“Where did it come from?” Shuichi asked.

“The backyard. This way. Let’s go.”

They sprinted to the back door. Ouma poked his head around the doorway and inhaled a sharp breath. He pressed his body flat against the wall, met Shuichi’s eyes, and jerked his head toward the backyard.

Whatever had happened, Ouma thought Shuichi was better suited to deal with it.

Swallowing his nerves, Shuichi stepped into the backyard.

Shuichi had steeled himself for a murder attempt, a grotesque crime scene, but the sight that met his eyes was far from horrifying. No one--neither Saki or any of the three Shingujis--were injured.

And yet, Mr. and Mrs. Shingujis’ eyes had blown wide with terror. Saki’s hand trembled, white-knuckled grip clenching around a gardening spade. Her lips quivered, moving in ways that looked like words, yet no sound came from her mouth.

The only person who had any composure was Korekiyo, but even his eyes flicked side to side as his face took on a greenish tint. His gaze landed on Shuichi. His eyes widened, but his expression, his entire body language, fell to neutral within moments.

“I...I should be leaving,” was Korekiyo’s only explanation as he shouldered past Shuichi, heading inside the house.

Shuichi turned to follow after him, but Saki’s words stopped him.

“What the fuck...what the fuck...what the fuuuuuuuuck…”

“Ah, Miss Saki?”

Her eyes flicked between him and the bed of lilies. Then, raising her spade, she pointed.

The flowerbed’s soil was loose. To one side rested an uprooted mass of green vines--weeds, Shuichi gathered. The lilies themselves were undisturbed. And yet, half-hidden behind their stems lay a white-brown object, jutting out of the ground with strands of root and clumps of soil clinging to it. Bent, like a boomerang’s wings, and roughly cylindrical in shape. Strange, sure, but Shuichi couldn’t see why it had everyone on edge.

Then, he noticed the half-decayed sneaker attached to its end.

A leg. Oh God, that meant--

“The body is not to be disturbed.” Korekiyo reappeared in the doorway. His composure hadn’t left him, which made his statement all the more chilling. The blade of a kitchen knife glinted in his hand.

Shuichi stepped back, trying not to do anything that might make the deranged man angry. But Korekiyo’s eyes didn’t follow his motion. No…

They were fixed on Saki.

Ouma slipped out of the house, slinking through the flowerbeds behind Korekiyo’s field of vision. He scooped up a handful of dirt, locked eyes with Shuichi, and gave a pointed glance to Korekiyo.

Ouma had a plan, and he needed Shuichi to play a part in it.

It was strange to find himself trusting the thief, but if there was anyone with enough cunning to fix their situation, it was him.

Shuichi nodded. He and Ouma set their gazes on Korekiyo.

The anthropologist marched forward, a cruel mix of anger and desperation filling his eyes. The sight forced cold adrenaline through Shuichi’s veins. It would have left him anchored in place, were he not waiting, muscles tense, for Ouma’s cue.

“If my crime is uncovered, then I am left with no choice. For my sister’s sake, I must--”

“Hey, creep!” Ouma shouted.

The distraction made Korekiyo whirl around just in time to take a fistful of soil to face.

Wailing, Korekiyo clawed at his eyes. Ouma rushed forward, but the moment he came within reach, Korekiyo raised his knife and--

No!

Shuichi leapt at Korekiyo. He wrapped his arms around the anthropologist's neck and held on as tight as he could.

Korekiyo stumbled. His swing flew wide, leaving Ouma unscathed. A surge of relief passed through Shuichi’s chest, quickly replaced with terror when Korekiyo started thrashing.

Shuichi wasn’t trying to strangle Korekiyo. At worst, he was weighing him down. But Shuichi’s hesitancy didn’t stop Korekiyo from fighting like a man possessed. Somewhere at the edge of his perception, he could hear the others--Ouma, Saki, the Shingujis--all shouting. Their words were incomprehensible, the need to hang on to Korekiyo drowning out all distraction.

Then, Korekiyo stilled. For a moment, Shuichi dared believe he’d given up.

A stinging thump, just above Shuichi’s wrist. Shuichi thought Korekiyo might have hit him.

Something warm and wet trickled down Shuichi’s arm. His grip around Korekiyo’s neck failed, and he dropped to the ground, staining the grass with dots of red. It didn’t hurt until Shuichi saw it: A gash, with rivulets of blood streaming from it, deep enough that the knife must have pierced his muscle. 

Shuichi tried to push himself to his knees, crawl away from Korekiyo, but his back hit a fence.

Everyone--except Ouma--was nowhere to be seen. The thief had probably herded them away from danger. 

But, with Shuichi flat on his back and Ouma without any tricks, there was hardly a chance of them being able to defend themselves, much less overpower Korekiyo. 

“Oi, what’s going on back here?”

Never before had Shuichi been so glad to hear Mr. Nagamura’s voice.

The senior detective sprinted into the backyard. His gaze landed on Shuichi’s injured arm before flicking over to Ouma and the bloodied knife in Korekiyo’s hand.

“I--uh.” Mr. Nagamura raised his police badge and a pair of handcuffs, hunching behind them like they could offer him protection. “Okay, I don’t know exactly what’s happening here, but it looks illegal. So, young man--” He addressed Korekiyo. “--you’re under arrest. If you could drop the knife, that’d be--”

“I refuse.” Korekiyo crouched down and yanked Shuichi by the hair. “My sister...she remains so lonely in that place. If there is nothing I am able to do to earn her forgiveness, then I will curse myself to an eternity without her.”

Korekiyo pressed his knife against Shuichi’s neck, and Shuichi’s own panicked breaths filled his ears. The knife’s blade hovered a mere millimeter above Shuichi’s windpipe. 

“Eternal isolation would not be so terrible a fate for me. But my sister, she needs more friends. If you try to stop me in my quest, then rest assured…” The knife bit into Shuichi’s skin. A droplet of blood rolled down his neck. “...he will die.”

Mr. Nagamura’s eyes widened. He took a deep breath, and, wincing like the action caused him pain, stowed the handcuffs and badge. “Alright. I’m not gonna escalate the situation more than it’s already been escalated. In fact, I’m gonna leave, and we can talk this out when everyone’s calmed down a bit.” Not making any sudden moves, he backed away until he vanished around the side of the house.

“You. Leave as well,” Korekiyo said, addressing Ouma.

No. Please no. If Ouma left, then Shuichi would be all alone. And he didn’t want to be alone when Korekiyo snapped and drove that knife into his neck.

Fear had Shuichi too frozen to speak, so he begged with his eyes.

_Please, Ouma. Help me._

Understanding crossed Ouma’s expression.

Then...he started crying?

“I-I’m--” A sob shook Ouma’s shoulders. “I’m such a horrible person!”

Korekyo tensed. The knife dug a hair’s width deeper into Shuichi’s neck. Not good. Not good.

“I do not care--”

Ouma continued bawling, ignoring Korekiyo. “I-I just wanted to do an interview with a famous anthropologist, b-but that’s why we’re all in this situation. If I’d never suggested this, my friend would never have dug up that body, and y-you wouldn’t have gotten angry! And now an innocent bystander is gonna die just because I was an idiot, and--” Ouma hiccuped, tears and snot running down his face. “--and...and...it’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault!”

That...it was an act, right?

“Please. I d-don’t want someone to die because of a mistake I made, s-so, if you need a hostage to help give your sister friends, then...then I can be your hostage.”

No!

Shuichi could hear the glare in Korekiyo’s voice. “Why would you volunteer to risk your life? And for a stranger, no less.”

“I’d rather die than have to live with s-someone’s death on my conscience. So please, I--I won’t cause you any trouble! Not like I could...I’m not very smart, and not very strong either. B-but he works with the police! They probably taught him a bunch of tricks at the police academy. Who knows what kinda trouble he could cause for you?”

Shuichi waited, breath held. Part of him--the selfish part--hoped that Korekiyo would agree and take Ouma as a hostage instead. But, the larger part of him, the part that only wanted to be useful to others, the same part that knew how _useless_ he truly was, drove away any hope Ouma’s offer might have given him. Shuichi didn’t deserve anyone risking their life for his sake.

The words had come from Ouma’s mouth, and the thief probably considered them lies. But they rang true for Shuichi.

He’d rather die than have someone’s death on his conscience.

“Very well,” Korekiyo said. “Come here.”

Entire body trembling, Ouma inched closer. When he crossed into Korekiyo’s reach, the anthropologist snatched Ouma by his arm and shoved Shuichi away.

“Leave. And if you attempt to interfere with my plans, I will not hesitate to end this boy’s life.”

Ouma’s body kept trembling. A cadence of sobs fell from his lips, but his face--which Korekiyo couldn’t see--sported a grin.

_“Go.”_ Ouma mouthed. _“I’ve got this.”_

But Ouma was a liar! Shuichi desperately wished to believe in his confidence, but if Ouma was lying, then--

Korekiyo pressed his knife to Ouma’s neck. “Well.” The word was stretched tight with implied threat.

The grin sank from Ouma’s expression. _“Go.”_

But--

Korekiyo squeezed Ouma’s arm so hard that the thief winced. A line of red gathered at the knife’s edge. 

For a split second, Ouma’s eyes flew wide with fear. His rapid, shuddering breaths suddenly seemed a little too genuine.

Ouma’s fists clenched, and his teeth gritted together in desperation. Venom pooled in his gaze. _“Leave!”_

Although no sound left Ouma’s mouth, Shuichi could hear the anger in that word.

Shuichi flinched, jerking the brim of his hat down. But it was no use. Those hate-filled eyes swam in his vision. It was the murder case all over again. He’d revealed an uncomfortable truth, and everyone around him was paying the price for it.

Every time he uncovered the truth, someone got hurt. Why had he been stupid enough to think that pursuing Ouma would be any different?

Trembling, he staggered to his feet. He forced himself to lock eyes with Ouma, trying to communicate how sorry he was.

The thief’s gaze softened, growing closer to pity. Somehow that stung Shuichi’s chest more than hatred ever could have. At least Shuichi deserved hatred. When he’d been the cause of so much suffering, pity was too good for him.

Knowing that he was a pitiful, useless, _worthless _coward, Shuichi steeled his nerves and did the only thing he could do:

He ran away. 

\------

When Saihara vanished from view, Kokichi had to resist a sigh of relief. His rival was safe, and Kokichi could focus his attention on neutralizing the threat that was Korekiyo Shinguji.

Plus, he could quit his stupid “Oh-I’m-so-weak-and-pitiful-and-self-hating” act. Seriously, what was the fun of lying if he had to become someone so pathetic?

Korekiyo’s grip on his arm loosened, but not enough for Kokichi to break away and escape--not that it’d be smart to try. The guy was crazy _and _stupid enough to kill someone and then bury the body on his own property. No doubt he’d kill Kokichi the second he stepped out of line.

Still, his guards were falling, ever so gradually.

Welp. Time to put on an act that was waaaay more fun.

Kokichi shut off any lingering nervousness that trembled across his body and swapped it for an ear-to-ear grin. He craned his head back so that Korekiyo could see it.

“By the way, there’s a no-returns policy on hostages,” Kokichi said.

“...What?”

“Thaaaat’s right! You’re stuck with me now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Bodies decompose more slowly in non-acidic (a.k.a. pH greater than 7) environments.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite possibly the longest stretch of time I’ve gone without updating this fic. On the plus side, this chapter’s extra long.
> 
> Fun fact: Because human saliva contains so much (and so many different types of) bacteria and viruses, human bite wounds--especially those that break the skin--often become infected.

Clutching at his bloodied arm, Shuichi staggered into the front yard. Korekiyo’s parents, Saki, and Mr. Nagamura all stood clustered around the police car.

“I’m telling you, my son would never kill anyone!” The shouts came from Korekiyo’s father. “T-there must be some mistake. Maybe he was framed. M-maybe some evil spirits possessed him! God knows he spends too much time at the archaeological digs. Either way...back there...that wasn’t my son!”

“It’s none of my business what is and isn’t your son,” Mr. Nagamura said. His fingers trembled as he punched numbers into his flip phone. “All I know is that guy back there has one of my junior detectives. So, what I’m gonna do is--”

“Ah, Mr. Nagamura…?” Shuichi began.

“--I’m gonna call in some backup. Maybe a negotiator--”

“Mr. Nagamura?”

“--Hopefully a professional can help de-escalate this situation a bit. In the meantime, we can only hope Saihara’s okay--”

“S-sir?” Shuichi tried.

Saki glanced between Shuichi and Mr. Nagamura. She sighed, shook her head, and snapped her fingers in Mr. Nagamura’s face. “Ey, bub.” She jerked her thumb in Shuichi’s direction.

Mr. Nagamura’s eyes flicked up, landing on Shuichi. A grin spread across his face. “Saihara? Is that you? Y-you’re not a ghost, are you?” Mr. Nagamura grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. Shuichi wasn’t sure whether it was the swaying or the blood loss, but white blotches swirled in his vision.

“Ah...could you please let go, Mr. Nagamura?”

He did. Abruptly. Shuichi’s legs trembled. The world tilted, but his hand found the car’s hood, and he steadied his weight against it. 

“You’re alive! Thank god,” Mr. Nagamura continued. “If I’d lost a junior detective during a routine investigation, it would look _terrible _for my track record.”

“Where’s Ko--” Saki cleared her throat. “I mean, where’s that other guy? Y’know, that one who wasn’t wearing a shirt for some reason?”

Ouma. Shuichi threw a glance over his shoulder, but the thief was nowhere to be seen.

Saki was Ouma’s accomplice. In fact, by the worry in Ouma’s voice when he’d thought she’d been hurt, maybe the thief even considered her a friend.

And now he was in danger. All because of Shuichi.

Saki chewed at her lip. Her gaze was filled with pain, apprehension. “Well?” Her tone held equal parts worry and aggravation.

Shuichi flinched. He tugged the brim of his hat down, low enough to block her eyes. “I-I’m sorry. He’s still…” The memory of Ouma’s desperate eyes filled Shuichi’s mind. His chest stung, and he found that he couldn’t push the words out past the lump forming in his throat.

Still, his silence was answer enough for Saki.

“Hey, detective Naga-whatsit. Weren’t you gonna call a negotiator?” she said.

“Uh, well...yes, but--”

“Then get on with it!” Saki’s arms crossed over her chest. Her foot tapped a rapid cadence against the asphalt.

“R-right.” Mr. Nagamura continued tapping numbers into his phone. Without looking up, he slapped a pair of handcuffs around Saki’s wrist, anchoring her to the police car’s door handle.

“What the hell?!” Saki said.

“That shirtless guy looked an awful lot like The Crowned Horse. And you were in his general vicinity without an alibi. Therefore, you’re probably an accomplice of his,” Mr. Nagamura explained.

That logic was so flawed and so correct at the same time that Shuichi could only stare at Mr. Nagamura, openmouthed.

“What? That doesn’t make any--” Saki tugged against her cuffs, but only managed to jab their metal rims into her skin. She sucked in a breath and grumbled something Shuichi didn’t quite catch--although he did make out the words “...fucking key this damn car...”

If Mr. Nagamura heard what she said, he pretended not to notice. He gave a pointed glance at Shuichi’s arm, dug through the front seat of the car, and tossed him a roll of gauze and bandages.

Shuichi fumbled with the rolls, but managed to catch them--no small feat, considering that his injured arm wasn’t in much shape to be catching anything.

Once Shuichi had started bandaging up his arm, Mr. Nagamura raised his phone to his ear and marched away, muttering urgently.

“Ah...Miss Saki?”

Saki’s posture stiffened. “Haha. But that’s, like, totally stupid! I don’t even, like, have any keys on me!” She gave Shuichi a wide-eyed, sidelong glance that said,_ “I was kidding. Please, please, please don’t arrest me.”_

Shuichi covered his eyes with the brim of his hat. A million questions swirled in his mind--all about Ouma: who he was, what his “evil organization” really did, why he’d chosen to become a phantom thief--but Shuichi held them back. Whenever he tried to solve a mystery, someone got hurt. The dead body in the Shingujis’ garden had been proof of that.

But, there was one question that burned so strongly in Shuichi’s mind that he had to ask it regardless: “Miss Saki...do you think Ouma will be alright?”

“Haha. What? What is, like, an ‘Ouma?’ Is it a type of, like, nail polish?”

“You...know you don’t need to play dumb, right? I already know that you’re his accomplice.”

“Shit. Guess the jig is up, huh?” A scowl crossed her face, and she yanked at her cuffs with new enthusiasm. “God. Damn. Stupid--”

“Miss Saki…?”

She sighed. “Yeah. I think the boss’ll be alright. If there’s one thing I know about the guy, it’s that he’s a tricky little shit. Korekiyo Shinguji doesn’t know what he’s gotten himself into. In fact, I’d bet that if we just give him a few minutes, the boss’ll be walking out of there with _Korekiyo_ at knifepoint!“ Despite her optimistic words, a heaviness settled in her shoulders. She stopped fighting her handcuffs and directed her pent-up nervous energy to worrying her lower lip.

Shuichi turned his attention to his arm. The gauze was secure in place, but it had already soaked up a lot of blood. It probably wouldn’t work as more than a temporary measure. 

“Miss Saki, are you sure there’s nothing to worry about…?”

“Well, _obviously_ not. He’s alone with a fucking murderer! Who knows what’s gonna happen?” She ran her free hand through her hair. A series of deep breaths found their way into her lungs, but it was clear that they were forced. Even so, a wry smile crept onto her lips. “Y’know, the most surprising part about all this--to me at least--is that you’re not running back there to help him out.”

“Huh...why would--”

“Look, I dunno _exactly_ what kinda relationship you and the boss have, but what I do know is that, just now, you disappeared for a few minutes, he disappeared for a few minutes, and the next time I see both of you, he’s not wearing a shirt, and you’re both acting like some sorta team. So, clearly--”

“W-wait! I think you’re jumping to a few conclusions there!”

Saki shrugged. “Maybe. But you gotta admit that the whole scenario looks super suspicious.”

“Ah…” Shuichi decided not to argue with her. 

And, as much as he tried to push thoughts of Ouma out of his mind, the thief was all he could think about. Was he injured? Scared? Dying?

Please, not that last one. Shuichi couldn’t handle any more murder on his conscience, especially knowing that Ouma was only in danger because of Shuichi’s own cowardice.

Still, Saki’s confidence took the edge off Shuichi’s worry. And, when Mr. Nagamura’s backup arrived, Shuichi let himself breathe easy. 

\------

Korekiyo’s hand clenched around Kokichi’s arm. From the way his head flicked side to side, worry creasing his forehead, he must have felt rather exposed in the open air of the backyard.

“Come with me. We’re heading inside,” he said.

Kokichi let himself be marched over to the back door. He tried to hop up the doorway’s single stair, but Korekiyo’s haste dragged him along, catching his foot against the step and making him stumble. The knife’s edge dug into his skin, and Kokichi winced.

“Y’know, as much as I loooove having a knife to my neck, would it kill you to put it away?” Kokichi asked. “If either of us trip, I’m getting decapitated, and you’re losing your bargaining chip. And that would be a_ really_ anti-climactic ending to this whole ‘hostage situation’ thing.”

Korekiyo’s grip tightened. A “no.” Damn. 

With the knife biting into Kokichi’s neck, Korekiyo hauled his hostage toward a window and parted its blinds. Kokichi tilted his head so that he could see outside.

Saihara was there. Judging by the way he clutched his arm, his injury obviously hurt, but he wasn’t passed out or bleeding heavily. Meanwhile, Saki had her arms crossed across her chest with her eyes scrunched up in worry. But at least she seemed unhurt.

Then, Mr. Nagamura slapped a pair of handcuffs on her wrists. She protested, struggling against them and shouting a curse that Kokichi could hear, even at his distance, but that did nothing to loosen her cuffs.

Nevermind. That was going to be a headache to deal with.

Korekiyo’s eyebrows creased like he were frowning, but he let the blinds slide shut and turned to Kokichi. “Am I wrong to assume that your crying show was some sort of deception?”

“Nope! You’re absolutely right! It was all a lie.” Kokichi expected Korekiyo to give at least an irritated sigh.

Instead, the anthropologist’s voice grew soft. “Interesting. So you would go to such lengths to protect a complete stranger? How truly...beautiful.”

Eugh. The words felt like a spider, crawling up Kokichi’s spine. 

Nope. Nuh-uh. Time to shift the conversation to something less…creepy.

“Sooooo, do you wanna explain what the deal is with that dead body in your backyard?” The fact that that counted as “less creepy” only served to drive home how quickly everything had spiraled into weird-as-hell territory.

It was hard to tell--what with that creepy mask in the way--but Kokichi could have sworn that a flicker of sorrow crossed Korekiyo’s face. “That girl was a friend. For my sister.”

His sister. He kept bringing her up. But Kokichi hadn’t seen any trace of her, even with his sneaking through most of the house. Did that mean…?

“Your sister? Don’t you mean your _dead _sister?”

Korekiyo’s grip turned to a vice, nails digging into Kokichi’s skin. Kokichi sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. That was gonna bruise.

“I take it that no one taught you how rude it is to mock another’s loss?”

“Nope!” Kokichi gave Korekiyo his broadest grin. But, as fun as it was to yank the homicidal maniac’s chain, antagonizing him too much wouldn’t accomplish anything--well, except maybe getting Kokichi killed.

Kokichi let his expression turn more sorrowful and more serious. “Actually, all jokes aside, I kinda feel sorry for you.”

“Your pity is wasted on me, I--”

“I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about. I’ve been in that boat before, so I know exactly how much you’re hurting,” Kokichi lied.

“Is this another deception?”

Kokichi let a sad smile rise to his lips. “I wish.”

Korekiyo stared down at him, eyebrows creased into a glare, steel-cold wariness resting in his gaze. Shit. Kokichi needed to sell his act harder.

“It hurts. You start thinking about how much closer you wanted to grow to that person. How, if you had even a little bit more time with them, you’d appreciate it to its fullest. And all those fun activities the two of you used to do start to get boring because they’re not around to share them with you anymore.” Kokichi chose not to think about how his words were partly true. Because even though he’d never lost anyone important, what spilled out of his mouth were the horrible possibilities that had sprung into his mind when Korekiyo had raised his knife to Saihara’s neck.

Korekiyo’s wariness slipped from his gaze. “That...is astonishingly familiar to how I felt after my sister’s passing. There’s a beautiful irony to it; The grief of death is one experience that unites almost all the living. It’s no surprise that so much tradition is born out of it.”

Welp, seemed like he bought it. Success! Now that Kokichi had a tiny degree of trust, it was time to ask more important questions.

“Soooo, if your sister’s dead...why does she need friends?”

Korekiyo raised an eyebrow. “Why do the living need friends? The desire for companionship is fundamental to the human condition, even in death. My sister, even now...she must be so very lonely.”

That was useful to know, but it wasn’t the information Kokichi needed.

“W-wait, y-you’re not gonna kill_ me_, are you!?” Kokichi said, forcing fake shivers through his body. “I-I know I said I wouldn’t cause you any trouble, b-but if you try to stab me, I absolutely _will_...uh...I’ll bite you! And my teeth are _sharp_!”

Korekiyo seemed unimpressed with Kokichi’s threat. “You needn’t concern yourself. I would never send my sister a man to befriend. If she were to fall in love, only to feel the agony of heartbreak--or, heaven forbid, come to harm at his hands--I would never be able to forgive myself.”

So that was why his first instinct had been to target Saki.

But still, the guy seemed weirdly sure that his dead sister was sad and lonely. It came from his insanity, obviously--but what type of delusions did he have? If Kokichi could figure that out, maybe he could use Korekiyo’s twisted logic against him.

“This is a weird question, but does your sister ever...talk to you?” Kokichi said.

Korekiyo’s eyes widened. Then, his posture relaxed. The corners of his eyes took on a light crinkle, as if he were smiling. “Yes, she does. Or, she_ did_ at the very least. She would often visit me in my dreams. I take it you’ve experienced something similar?”

Dream visitation, huh? Apparently insane minds thought alike.

“Uh-huh,” Kokichi said. “Sometimes, when I go to sleep, I’ll see my older sister. She’ll ask me how my grades are, if my dad’s doing alright. It’s…” Kokichi resisted a wince. “It’s nice to know that I’ve got someone looking out for me. Even if they’re a spooky ghost!”

The crinkle around Korekiyo’s eyes deepened. “I’m pleased to know that I am not alone in my situation.”

Perfect. Now that the crazy murder man saw Kokichi as someone who shared in his insanity, Kokichi could dig to the root of his delusions. 

Kokichi tilted his head to the side. “You say your sister _used_ to visit you? What happened? Why’d she stop?”

The corners of Korekiyo’s eyes smoothed, and his shoulders sank. “It was after I sent her her first friend...she became enraged.”

Wow, the crazy man’s hallucination actually had a sane reaction to murder. Color Kokichi surprised.

“After that, she refused to communicate with me,” Korekiyo continued. “I have tried begging for her forgiveness, but she is unwilling to grant it. So, since I am barred from her presence, I will simply guarantee her happiness from afar. With what little time I have left, I will send her dozens of friends! Kehehehe, I need only secure my freedom for but a moment.” Korekiyo’s tone was positively euphoric.

Ooooookay. The homicidal maniac wanted to go on a killing spree. As if things couldn’t get any worse.

“But...wouldn’t killing people just make your sister angrier?”

“It matters not. I am beyond her forgiveness. All I--”

There it was. Something Kokichi could use.

“You know, you’re totally wrong about that,” Kokichi said. He kept his tone light and his body relaxed. He needed to seem as honest as possible for this trick to work.

“I do not understand how you could possibly--”

“She’s your family, isn’t she? You might have done something to make her mad, but it’s impossible for family to hate each other forever!” It was a fake, useless platitude, and Kokichi knew it. But hopefully Korekiyo was so wrapped up in his “love” for his sister that he wouldn’t realize it.

“I--”

“Maybeeee…” Kokichi dragged the word out, giving him time to come up with a lie. “Maybe you just haven’t apologized in the right way yet!”

“How would--” Sirens wailed from outside the house. Korekiyo tensed, eyes widening with worry. The detectives must have called for backup.

Kokichi had to fight a grin. The timing couldn’t be more perfect.

Korekiyo pulled the window’s blinds back a sliver. “Tch. There are quite a few of them. This could be troublesome.” 

“I don’t think so,” Kokichi said. “I think that this is a sign from your sister!”

“How could this possibly--”

“Think about it! You’ve tried apologizing to her, sure, but murder is something most people won’t forgive easily. I bet she thinks you’re getting off wayyyyy too easy. I mean, did you _actually_ experience any consequences for your actions?”

Korekiyo’s eyes narrowed. “If she required my suffering as a condition of her forgiveness, she would have informed me.”

“Huh, why would she?” Kokichi asked. “Isn’t she giving you the silent treatment? Besides, maybe it’s a test!”

“A...test?”

“Yep! I’ll bet that she wants you to figure it out without her help. After all, how will she know you’re really sorry until you accept your punishment of your own free will?”

“That…” A flicker of guilt passed through Korkeyo’s gaze. He shook his head. “No, no. You’re wrong. You must be. That is a ridiculous assumption--”

“Really? Because it seems to me like you’ve only got a couple choices here: Go make your sister a bunch of friends, piss her off even worse than you’ve already done, and never see her again, orrrr you could give yourself up and actually _show _her how far you’ll go to earn her forgiveness! If you _really _dedicate yourself to apologizing and being a better person, there’s no way she’ll give you the silent treatment forever!”

“But--”

“And I think your sister’s rooting for you to be a better person, too! I’m sure she’d want to see her brother again, instead of some random ‘friend’ that she’ll never have even met before. You wouldn’t wanna disappoint her, now would you?” 

A wince crossed Korekiyo’s expression. For a moment, Kokichi felt bad about using the guy’s delusions against him, especially when they were tied up in lies about what the deceased would have wanted.

Then Kokichi remembered that Korekiyo had threatened Saihara and tried to kill Saki.

On second thought, Kokichi wasn’t going to waste his energy pitying the lunatic. 

Korekiyo glanced between Kokichi and the window. The knife receded, releasing its pressure on Kokichi’s skin.

“If you are incorrect about this, once I am dead, my spirit will hunt you down and pluck the nerves from your still-living body as an act of retribution.”

Huh. Good thing Kokichi didn’t believe in ghosts!

“I’m not too worried. I have a feeling I’m right.” Kokichi kept his tone confident. “Anyways, you should _probably_ put the knife down. If the police see you’re armed, they might, y’know, jump to conclusions and beat you up. Or worse.”

Finally, Korekiyo released Kokichi’s arm, and, with heavy resignation etched across his posture, Korekiyo placed his knife on the windowsill. “I see…I can only hope that…” He shook his head. A wet sheen gathered around the rim of his eyes. “...I will not fail my sister again.” He sighed. Then, he flung open the front door and, hands raised, stepped into the half circle of police officers that lay in wait.

Victory! Kokichi couldn’t resist a smirk.

Once Korekiyo’s footsteps grew faint, Kokichi swiped the knife from the windowsill, wiped its sticky sheen of blood off on his pants--eugh, gross--and slipped it into his shoe. The solid press of metal against his foot helped focus his thoughts. Now that he had more tools at his disposal than just his puny lockpicks, he could start plotting.

He cracked the blinds open just wide enough to peer outside. A few police cars and half a dozen policemen stood in a loose semi-circle around the house. They’d already arrested Korekiyo, and Saki was still handcuffed to a police car. Kokichi’d have to loop around and rescue her before he made his escape.

The ring of cops moved in towards the front door. A few curved to the house’s sides, marching toward the backyard. They were trying to cut his escape off. Damn. He needed to move.

Kokichi let the blinds slide shut and sprinted out the back door, leaping over the fence before any of the cops could spot him.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally have an excuse to write these two being soft with each other. Hope y’all like it. I know you’ve been waiting about...forty thousand words for this?
> 
> Geez. Well, guess I’m earning that “slow burn” tag.
> 
> Anyways, go ahead and enjoy the softness while it lasts.
> 
> Fun fact: Because quick, heavy blood flow pushes platelets and other clotting factors out of a wound, large injuries often have trouble healing on their own. This is why pressure at the site of the injury is recommended as a form of first aid; It slows the blood flow, giving time for a blood clot to form.

Within minutes, Kokichi had circled back to the street. Korekiyo had been arrested, but the cops still crawled all over his house--with the idiot detective Naga-what’s-his-face leading the investigation. No doubt their goal was Kokichi, given that Saki had been left handcuffed to the door of a police car with only Saihara to keep watch over her.

Although, Saihara wasn’t doing much “watching.” Every so often, his downturned gaze would stray in Saki’s direction, but he’d wince and turn away. More often than not, his eyes would wander to the Shingujis’ house, and he’d chew at his bottom lip, a pained emotion flashing in his eyes.

Aww. Was he worried about Kokichi? And here he’d thought it’d be a challenge to steal the detective’s heart.

If it were just him, Kokichi would have found a way to taunt Saihara, turn around, and run for home. But Saki didn’t stand much chance of escaping without his help, and Kokichi wasn’t about to leave one of his loyal henchmen behind.

With Saihara’s gaze toward the Shinguji’s house, it was all too easy for Kokichi to sneak over to the car, press himself against the asphalt, and worm himself underneath its chassis.

Once Kokichi reached Saki’s legs, he gave them a hard, solid pinch. After squeaking in surprise and returning him a kick to the arm, she crouched down next to him.

“Here, take these,” Kokichi whispered. He fished his lockpicks out of his pocket and passed them to her. “I’m gonna distract the detective.”

“Okay. Cool plan. One problem: I don’t fucking know how to pick locks, Kokichi.”

Kokichi gasped, not loudly enough to alert Saihara, but the sound carried enough mockery to tease Saki. “And here I thought you were a model evil henchman! In fact, I was planning to award you with Employee of the Month! But you don’t even have basic criminal skills…I think the evil organization might have to fire you.” 

“Can it.”

“But seriously,” Kokichi continued. “Handcuffs have _super _simple locks. It’s almost insulting. Just stick the picks in and jiggle them around. It’ll work.”

“Easy for you--” But Kokichi had already slipped back under the car.

He crawled over to Saihara’s shoes and tapped on his heels. The detective whirled around, and, when he spotted Kokichi, his eyes grew wide. “O-ouma?”

“Nee-heehee! You’re really pale, Saihara. You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” Kokichi’s eyes strayed to Saihara’s arm, where a bandage had been tied around his injury. Even though Saihara must have applied it minutes ago, blood had already soaked through the gauze, pooling around the edges of the fabric. 

The sight made Kokichi’s stomach churn, but he forced the feeling down and pulled a grin onto his face. “Actually, it looks like _you’re_ the one who might become a ghost!”

Saihara glanced to his arm, but worry didn’t cross his face until he looked back at Kokichi. “Ouma, are you...hurt?” The amount of concern in Saihara’s voice twisted around Kokichi’s heart, stinging his chest.

Kokichi pouted. “That’s rude, you know.” He jabbed an accusatory finger in Saihara’s face. “I’m your _rival. _Worrying about my well-being is an insult to my skills as a phantom thief!”

Saihara didn’t seem to pay much attention to Kokichi’s words. Instead, he reached forward a gentle hand and pressed his fingers against Kokichi’s neck.

The touch stung, reminding Kokichi that he had earned an injury of his own. But it was shallow--hardly more than a scratch, especially in comparison to the deep gash in Saihara’s arm.

“I’m sorry…” Saihara winced, and his hand receded. He tugged the brim of that stupid hat downward, hiding his eyes.

“Wow! We’re a matching pair!” Kokichi pointed to the thin line of red across Saihara’s own neck. “It’s a good thing neither of us lost our heads! I might have come back as a gross zombie!”

For a split second, the words were enough to turn the corners of Saihara’s mouth upward, but his expression fell back into a pained frown. 

“Ouma...why--”

“Hey, Saihara!” Great. The idiot detective. Kokichi threw a glance over his shoulder. Saki was nowhere to be seen. He could make a break for it.

Except...Saihara’s arm. Whoever had patched it up had done a _horrible_ job. The gauze was too thin, the bleeding had barely slowed, much less stopped, and Kokichi could _swear _that Saihara had turned even paler over the course of their conversation.

That settled it. If their game was going to be any fun, then Saihara couldn’t have some dumb stab wound slowing him down. Kokichi wasn’t going to let his rival’s injuries get any worse.

Mr. Nagamura’s boots appeared next to Saihara’s crouched form. “What’re you looking at down there? Aren’t you supposed to be watching the accomplice?”

“Ah. S-sorry. I just saw a cat under here. But I think it ran off, so--”

Was Saihara...lying to protect him? Kokichi scowled. That was the _opposite _of a rival’s job.

Well, if he needed to get himself close to Saihara, there wouldn’t be a better time to reveal himself. Kokichi poked his head out from under the car. “I think the detective meant to say he saw a cat _burglar_ down here. Since I, y’know, steal things.”

Mr. Nagamura gasped. He stumbled backward, arms windmilling melodramatically. “Crowned Horse!”

“Thaaaaat’s me! I’m here to turn myself in.” Kokichi tilted his head to the side and glanced between the two detectives. “Well? Aren’t you gonna arrest me?”

Saihara’s mouth fell ajar. He looked shocked--horrified, even--at the mere suggestion. “I don’t think--I mean, Mr. Nagamura, he convinced Korekiyo to let me go. It wouldn’t be very fair to...a-and even aside from that, there’s no way he’d give himself up so easily. He has to have a trick up his sleeve.”

“Eh? But detective, it’s not physically possible for me to have ‘tricks up my sleeves.’” Kokichi gestured to his unclothed torso.

“He has a point,” Mr. Nagamura said. “Here.” He pulled a pair of handcuffs off of Saihara’s belt and slapped them around Kokichi’s wrists. “Let’s drop this guy in the back seat of the car. I’ll keep an eye on him while you talk to the other officers about what the hell was going on with that Shinguji kid.” Mr. Nagamura grabbed Kokichi by the arm and hauled him out from under the car.

Kokichi resisted a scowl. He hadn’t let himself be handcuffed and arrested just to be put under Naga-idiot’s watch.

“Woooow~ That’s a great idea!” Kokichi said. “If you want Emo Hat here to get stabbed to death, that is.”

“Huh?”

“I mean, it’s obvious that the homicidal maniac hates his guts,” Kokichi continued. “Emo Hat’s the only one who got _really _hurt by the guy. Plus, after you left to ‘de-escalate the situation,’ that creep started muttering something about how Emo Hat ‘offended his sister’s memory!’ Sure, that guy’s compliant _now_, but if he spots Saihara, that could change. You really wanna risk it?”

Saihara’s eyes widened. He’d seen through Kokichi’s lie. “Ah, wait, that didn’t--”

Kokichi shot him a glare. Saihara winced and grabbed at his hat.

“You were saying something, Saihara?” Mr. Nagamura said.

“Ah...y-yeah.” He caught Kokichi’s eyes. “I-It happened just like The Crowned Horse says it did. I...I’m lucky to be alive.”

Either Saihara trusted Kokichi enough to play accomplice to his lies, or he was too scared to contradict him. Interesting…

“Well. in that case, I’ll go talk with the other officers,” Mr. Nagamura flung the police car’s door open. He tried to drag Kokichi inside, but Kokichi wrenched himself free of Mr. Nagamura’s grasp, leapt inside the car, and sprawled across the back seat, laying with his hands behind his head like the seats were his own, personal sofa.

Mr. Nagamura slammed the door shut. Muffled by the car’s body, the words, “Saihara, you watch him. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” filtered through the air. Then, Saihara slipped into shotgun.

A barrier separated the back seat from the front, with only a small window bridging the two halves of the car. Instead of glass, the window was made entirely of tough, clear plastic. The same went for the windows to either side of Kokichi’s seat. And each window was secured in place by...metal screws?

Psh. Escaping would be_ too_ easy.

“So...uh...Ouma?”

“Yes, my beloved Saihara?”

Saihara didn’t react to the term of endearment. Instead, he continued, “Your accomplice...she’s escaped?”

“Yep! I’m surprised that the idiot detective didn’t notice. I _would_ say that he has the attention span of a pigeon, but one of my henchmen would gut me alive for insulting the birds like that, so I’m not gonna.”

“Ah...right.” Saihara sunk into his chair. He pulled his emo hat down, despite facing away from Kokichi. Weird.

Well, since he wasn’t being watched, it was time for Kokichi to put his escape plan into action. He slipped the knife out of his shoe and, using its point as a makeshift screwdriver, started working at the screws that held the windows together.

“Ouma...you didn’t have to put yourself in danger like that. I--”

“Eh? But of course I did!” Kokichi smirked. Their conversation covered up the faint _ shink shink shink_ of screws being undone. He just needed to keep Saihara talking, and he’d have an escape route in no time. “I mean, let’s be honest. You could have died if I hadn’t stepped in. So I did. And now you owe me a life debt!”

“What! No! That’s not--” Saihara whirled around. Kokichi slipped the knife behind his back, pulling an innocent smile onto his face.

“Yep! Now you’ve gotta be my henchman until the day you die!”

Judging by Saihara’s shocked expression, he didn’t appreciate the joke.

“Aww, c’mon! It’s not as bad as you think! Like I said, henchmen get all the food, sleep, and sex they want. Aaaaand, if you swear your undying loyalty to me, I _might _even let you be my second-in-command! Whadda’ya say?”

“Ah, no!”

Even though Kokichi’s offer was half-joking, the rejection stung. He jutted his lip out in a pout and faked a sniffle. “S-Saihara! You’re such a meanie! I’m here trying to extend an offer of _friendship_ and _trust,_ and you just go and break my heart? You’re too cruel...”

“Ouma…?”

Kokichi dropped the act. “Well, I don’t care what you think anyway!”

Saihara’s eyebrows furrowed together--not from pain, though. Something closer to suspicion. Perfect! _That _was a good emotion for a rival to have, not whatever pity had made Saihara cover for him earlier.

“If you don’t care, then why did you put yourself in danger just to protect me?”

“For my honor as an Evil Supreme Leader, of course!” Kokichi wished that he had his cape to swish so that he could accentuate his evil leaderliness. But the best he could do was a vaguely menacing flourish with his hands. 

“I...don’t follow.”

“Just look at any movie with a villain and his hero rival! The villain always goes out of his way to protect him. After all, if the hero dies, then the villain never gets the satisfaction of killing him himself!”

“K-killing?”

“Yep! As your villainous rival, I’ve already called dibs on your head! So anyone who wants you dead is gonna have to answer to me!”

“Ah...thanks?”

“I _am_ going to kill you one day, though, so don’t think you can rest easy just because you’re under my protection.”

“...right.” Saihara turned around, and Kokichi went back to unscrewing the window.

Just before he undid the last screw, Saihara stepped out of the car, his eyes shifting in Kokichi’s direction, but never landing on him. For a moment, Kokichi worried that Saihara might have discovered his trick.

But Saihara just stood there, chewing his lip. Then, seemingly having come to some sort of conclusion, he gave a nervous glance to either side and unlocked the door.

“I...I know that I shouldn’t be doing this--” A guilty wince framed Saihara’s shoulders. “--but, whatever your motivations, you put yourself in danger to protect me. So, I should repay the favor somehow.” 

“If you think this frees you of your life debt, you’re totally wrong!” Kokichi said.

“Now wait a minute! You don’t know that Korekiyo would have killed me. You can’t claim a life debt over something like that!”

“I can _absolutely _claim a life debt! Especially because this is the second time you’ve insulted me today.”

“But I’m not insulting--”

Kokichi slipped out of the car, raised the knife to the window’s last screw, and popped it free. The window fell to the road with a _clunk._

“I don’t need help escaping from the police, Saihara. I thought you of all people would know that.”

“Oh…” Saihara cast his gaze to the side and rubbed at his arm.

His arm. Kokichi’s eyes roved over his bandage. The reason he’d bothered to hang back in the first place.

Blood still pooled at the bandage’s surface, thick enough that it would seep through within minutes. Something needed to be done about it.

Kokichi took Shuichi by the collar of his shirt and pressed him into the back seat of the police car. Surprisingly, Shuichi complied with the action without much protest

“O-ouma…?”

Kokichi tiptoed over to the front seat and dug through its myriad compartments. A fire extinguisher, police tape--c’mon, there had to be a first aid kit _somewhere._ Aha! There.

Kokichi scurried to the back seat, plopped himself down beside Saihara, and unzipped the first aid kit, revealing packs of gauze and rolls of bandages. Perfect. Exactly what he needed.

“Ouma, what are you--?”

“I’m making sure my rival doesn’t bleed to death.” That was a lie. Sure the wound looked painful, and if Saihara kept bleeding like he was doing, he might have to spend some time in the hospital, but his injury was nowhere near terrible enough to be fatal. Kokichi was only helping out so that his rival would be healed up in time to pursue him during his next heist. 

At least that’s what Kokichi told himself. But then again, he was a liar. He could have been lying to himself. He’d never know.

“You need to put pressure on it to stop the bleeding,” Kokichi said. He wrapped a blanket of clean bandages around the old layer, then squeezed down around the injury. “This might take a minute.”

To Kokichi’s surprise, Saihara’s uninjured hand moved to rest atop his. He met Saihara’s gaze, finding his rival’s eyes full of something...vulnerable?

Fear flashed in Saihara’s eyes. He winced and turned away, the hand that covered Kokichi’s tensing with worry. Just what was going on?

“Th-thank you, Ouma.” The words made excitement flutter in Kokichi’s chest. But it wasn’t the bubbly, electric type of excitement that came along with Saihara’s chasing after him. No, this excitement was...softer, more fragile.

Goddamn it. Kokichi was supposed to be stealing the detective’s heart, not the other way around.

Kokichi steeled his expression into neutral. He wasn’t about to show weakness in front of his rival. “If I’m gonna ‘escape,’ we’ll need to give you an alibi--wouldn’t want you to get caught aiding and abetting a criminal. Got any ideas, detective?”

“Um...I might have a couple suggestions?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that both of these last couple chapters have been pretty dialogue-heavy (I feel like it’s one of the weaker aspects of my writing). But, on the plus side, we’re moving on towards Kirumi’s plot point. And boy will this one be interesting.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: Because criminals are often violent and aggressive, the backseat of a police car usually does not have windows made of normal glass (as it’s pretty fragile). Instead, they often use some combination of metal bars or transparent, impact-resistant plastic.

The door to the police car’s back seat was locked, with the window and all its screws placed on the floor, making it look like Kokichi had used it as an escape route. To avoid suspicion, the first aid kit had been returned to its rightful home, and, to give Saihara an excuse as to why he hadn’t chased after Kokichi, Kokichi had cuffed the detective’s uninjured arm to the grab handle just above his seat.

“Think you’ll be able to get out of these alright?” Kokichi asked, pointing to the handcuffs.

“I should. Mr. Nagamura has a spare key. And, even if that doesn’t work out, the worst-case scenario is that someone will have to cut them off of me. Either way, I’ll get out of them eventually.” Saihara gave a halfhearted tug to the cuffs, testing their strength. They seemed strong enough to support his alibi, at least.

“...Aren’t you going to ‘escape’ now?” Saihara asked.

That _had _been the plan, but the cops still had their attention on the Shinguji’s house, and Kokichi still had some questions he needed answered.

So, instead of running away, Kokichi leaned in close to Saihara.

“...Ouma?”

“Y’see, I really want to make my daring escape, buuuut there’s this one_ tiny _question that you keep dodging.” Kokichi curled a finger under Saihara’s chin and forced their gazes to meet. “So, detective, just _why _are you so scared of me?”

Unlike the first time Kokichi had asked that question, Saihara didn’t try to deny it.

Instead, the color drained from his face. His cuffed hand tightened into a fist, and he jerked away as if Kokichi’s touch had stung him. He raised his hand--his injured arm, he shouldn’t have been moving it--and, with a wince, yanked the brim of his hat down, hiding his eyes from view.

Saihara had never reacted so strongly before. What had happened?

“Saihara?”

“Ah, s-sorry.” 

At least Kokichi had realized this: If there was one thing that set Saihara’s nerves on edge, it was when their eyes met.

“Hey, Saihara, close your eyes.”

“Huh? W-why exactly…?”

“Nee-heehee! You’ll just have to trust me~” The irony of asking his _rival _to trust him wasn’t lost on Kokichi.

But Saihara didn’t protest. Kokichi bent down, just low enough to peek under the brim of Saihara’s cap.

The detective’s eyelids were squeezed shut, pressed together so tightly that his expression looked pained.

Carefully watching Saihara’s expression, Kokichi stretched out a hand and cupped the detective’s cheek.

“Ah...Ouma?” Saihara’s cuffed fist relaxed, his eyes--while still squeezed shut--lost some of their pained, nervous crinkles.

“Y’know, this situation should ring a bell for you, my beloved detective,” Kokichi said, pulling his hand away for just a moment so he could trace along the handcuffs’ chain.

“Do you mean...yesterday? In the alleyway?”

“Of course!” Kokichi splayed his fingers over Saihara’s heart. The detective inhaled a breath, sharp with nervousness, but the pulse beneath Kokichi’s palm beat a little too quickly for Saihara to be_ just_ nervous.

“We were interrupted, so...what do you say we pick up our game where we left off?” Kokichi said, letting his voice sink low.

Silence filled the air as Kokichi waited for a response, half-expecting Saihara to reject the offer like he’d done the last time. 

But, after only a few seconds of hesitation, Saihara reached down as far as his cuffed arm would allow and threaded his fingers through Kokichi’s hair.

With a smirk creeping its way up his face, Kokichi slipped into the car and settled himself across Saihara’s knees. The detective gasped at the proximity, but he bent forward, the hand in Kokichi’s hair not-so-subtly guiding his rival closer.

Kokichi slid his hand up Saihara’s chest, trailing his fingertips along the detective’s neck until his hand rested on Saihara’s cheek. He dragged a thumb across the detective’s lower lip, an indication of what was to come.

Then, letting his own eyes fall shut, Kokichi wrapped his arms behind Shuichi’s neck and closed their distance, until their mouths hovered mere millimeters apart. “So, my beloved Saihara--”

“Ah, it’s ‘Shuichi.’ If we’re going to...then you should call me ‘Shuichi.’” The detective whispered.

His...first name?

Kokichi’s chest stung like Shuichi had pricked it with a knife. Even though the walls of the police car covered all sides of him, he suddenly felt exposed.

That level of familiarity...did Shuichi like him? Did Shuichi trust him? That was stupid! A rival wasn’t someone you needed to be close to, and it _definitely _wasn’t someone you needed to be vulnerable with. The whole point of a rival was that you _didn’t_ like them. That you _didn’t _trust them. A rival’s job was to endlessly--and sometimes playfully--antagonise their opponent. Nothing less, but also nothing more.

This was all wrong. Whatever was going on, it suddenly seemed too...honest?

Nope. No it wasn’t. Kokichi shut down that train of thought before it could reach its conclusion.

He’d gotten off track, lost sight of what a rivalry was supposed to be. He needed to fix that. _Now._

Saihara pressed forward, but Kokichi dodged to the side, letting his breath rest against the shell of Saihara’s ear.

“Y’know, Saihara, you really shouldn’t trust a liar like me.” Kokichi ran his hands through Saihara’s hair, letting them roam up his rival’s scalp until they hooked under that eye-hiding hat of his. Before Saihara could react, Kokichi leapt off of him, springing out of the car with the emo hat tucked under his arm.

Saihara’s eyes flew open, first holding surprise. When his gaze landed on his stolen hat, a flicker of hurt passed through them, quickly followed by a more guarded emotion--perfect, that was the way a rival _should _act. 

“What are you doing?” Saihara asked.

“Eh? Don’t tell me you thought I’d come all the way out here and walk away having stolen _nothing_! C’mon, Saihara, it’s like you forgot that I’m a _phantom thief_!”

“Ouma, give that back--” Saihara clambered out of the car. He stretched a hand after Kokichi, but the cuffs left him tethered to the police car.

“Haha, don’t worry, you’ll get your hat back--_if _you catch me fair and square!”

Saihara threw a glance over his shoulder, toward the cops that were still congregated near the Shingujis’ house. Was he thinking about calling for backup? Did he want to apprehend Kokichi?

Good. That was what a rival was _supposed_ to do.

“I think it’s my turn to leave,” Kokichi said. “And next time, don’t be so gullible. Seriously, a rival that makes themselves so stupidly vulnerable is no fun at all!”

“Ouma--”

“Nee-heehee! Enjoy your alibi, my _beloved_ Saihara.”

Saihara tugged at his cuffs, but it was a futile effort. By the time anyone else noticed that something was amiss, Kokichi had vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we’ve finally started putting the spotlight on some of Kokichi’s own insecurities, and I dunno about you, but I am hyped. I’ve been waiting for this moment since the “thieves don’t have crushes, we have _rivals_” line.
> 
> I can’t believe that it took eighteen chapters just to get to the beginning of Kokichi’s character arc, but here we are.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The record for most weight ever lifted by a single human being was set by Paul Anderson in 1957 when he lifted 6270 pounds (2844 kilograms).

“So The Crowned Horse unscrewed the window, stole your handcuff key, and cuffed you to the car?” Mr. Nagamura said. He glanced over at Shuichi for a split second, and his hands clenched around the steering wheel, but he turned his attention back to the road.

“Y-yeah, that’s exactly how it happened.” Shuichi winced, but, even though the words made guilt squirm in his chest, he didn’t take back the lie.

Why was he still covering for Ouma? Sure, the thief had risked his safety to ensure Shuichi’s, and, afterward, his usual antagonism had lifted. At least for a little while. If Shuichi ignored Ouma’s words and went strictly by the thief’s actions, he could almost believe that Ouma cared for him.

Except…

_“Next time, don’t be so gullible. Seriously, a rival that makes themselves so stupidly vulnerable is no fun at all!”_

Had Ouma only pretended to care, just so that he could flip the script on Shuichi at the last second, leaving him feeling confused, tricked, even...betrayed?

Maybe actions spoke louder than words, but Ouma was a liar above all else. Perhaps his actions could tell stronger lies than words ever could. 

“Oi, Saihara, you okay?”

Shuichi tensed, but his eyes flicked to Mr. Nagamura.

That was a mistake. In Mr. Nagamura’s face, there were two sets of all-too-familiar eyes: Daisuke’s glare, overlaid with Korekiyo’s steely gaze.

Shuichi reached for his hat and clutched at empty air. He jerked his eyes away, but his stomach was already churning over like it would have rejected Shuichi’s breakfast, had he eaten any.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine,” Shuichi said. “Just a bit…”

“Great! Then you can help with the murder investigation!”

Cold fear knotted in Shuichi’s chest. “Ah...Mr. Nagamura, I really don’t think--”

“Don’t be modest! I’ve heard all about the last murder case you worked on. You’ll do great. Besides, we have a lot more evidence this time. The body, the way the suspect acted--I even managed to find a neighborhood watch camera! We’ll probably have more than enough evidence to put our perp behind bars for life. Or at least a really long time.”

The details may have changed, but the most important facts stayed the same: Someone--a person whose family loved and cared for them--was going to jail. And it was all Shuichi’s fault.

With shame rising like bile in his threat, Shuichi leaned his head against the car’s window. He forced his mind to run in circles, chasing anything and everything except the murder case, hoping that that at least would grant him a moment of peace.

It was no use. No matter how much Shuichi tried to hide from their gazes, every passerby shared those same hate-filled eyes.

\------

“Helloooooooo! Anybody home?” Kokichi called.

No one poked their head around a corner or came running down a hallway. Same old ghost town. As usual.

And yet, if Kokichi strained his ears, he could hear the faint clinking of metal on metal, coming from...the gym?

Alright! Someone to brag about his heist to!

“C’mon, Saki! We need to go show off our stolen goods!”

“Ah…” Saki curled inward on herself. A distant expression settled in her gaze. “I-I think I need time to process everything that just went down. I’m gonna find Hato. Or become one with the foam pile. Heck, maybe both at this point.”

“But shh! Listen!”

A steady rhythm of clinks carried through the air. Saki’s eyes widened. “Is that...Akamaru?”

“Who else would it be?”

Saki heaved a sigh and hung her head in defeat. “You know what? Change of plans. Akamaru gives _the best_ hugs. And I could really, really use one of them right now.”

“Alright!” Kokichi spun on his heel and marched off to the gym, Saki trailing behind him.

Once they reached the gym, Kokichi poked his head around its doorway. “Hey!” he called.

Smack-dab in the middle of the gym was Akamaru, immediately recognizable by his poofy, red afro. Of all the DICE members, he was by far the most dedicated to the clown theme.

He laid on a bench press, lifting a barbell that probably weighed more than Kokichi and Saki combined. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his face, but his expression was more focused than pained.

“Hey! Akamaru!” Kokichi tried again.

With a heavy exhale, Akamaru placed his barbell back in its rack and swung himself into sitting position. 

“Hey, boss. What’s up?”

“That’s ‘Supreme Leader’ to you. And I just stole a hat!” Kokichi pulled Saihara’s cap out from under his arm and waved it through the air.

Akamaru nodded in approval. “Great! Three questions: What happened to your shirt? Why do you have a weird cut on your neck? And why does Saki look traumatized?”

“My rival stole my shirt,” Kokichi lied. “And, to answer questions two and three: I almost got decapitated by a homicidal maniac! Saki needs a hug, by the way.”

“I do. Very much,” Saki said.

Akamaru stood up and opened his arms wide. “Well, come on!”

Saki leapt forward and wrapped her arms around Akamaru’s chest. As Akamaru patted her head, the tension flowed out of Saki’s posture. Even though her face was buried in Akamaru’s chest, it was easy for Kokichi to imagine a contented smile rising to her face.

No surprises there. Kokichi may have been the team leader, but everyone agreed that Akamaru was the team dad. 

Well, everyone except Akamaru.

“It’s like the fatherly affection my real dad never gave me,” Saki said. A pause, and, suddenly, her tension returned. “_Shit._ Did I say that out loud?”

“N-now hold on!” Akamaru said. “I never claimed to be anybody’s dad! In fact--”

Kokichi smirked. Akamaru had unwittingly presented the perfect opportunity to push his buttons.

“Team dad! Team dad! Team dad!” Kokichi chanted, pumping his arms up and down.

Akamaru’s eye twitched. “No. I’m not--Kokichi stop. _Listen--_”

“Team dad! Team dad! Team dad!”

“_Kokichi--_”

“Well, I’m gonna head to the strategy room and start planning my next heist! See ya later, Saki, _Team dad_!” Kokichi said. 

Akamaru shot him a glare, but Kokichi had already sprinted off down the hallway.

\------

After Kokichi vanished, Akamaru let the scowl fall from his face. He turned to Saki. “So, uh, mind telling me why Kokichi’s _actually_ got that weird cut on his neck?”

Saki tensed. “Okay, listen, we didn’t know the guy was a murderer. We just showed up at his house and…”

With every word that spilled out of Saki’s mouth, Akamaru’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh my god. Kokichi wasn’t lying.”

\------

Kokichi frowned at the whiteboard, marker hovering in his hand. He had a target picked out, as well as a plan A, B, and C for the heist. But that was hardly enough. Saihara was no fool, so the plan needed to be _at least _foolproof. And that was impossible with only three plans on hand.

Would Saihara show the same initiative he’d shown while pursuing Kokichi at the Shungijis’ residence? Or would he back down like he’d done at the theater?

Both were likely, so Kokichi added sub-plans i and ii to each main plan. Still not close enough to cover every eventuality, but it was a starting point, at least.

Hato’s snores, all coming from the foam pile, set a steady metronome in the air while Kokichi worked, tacking on plans, sub-plans, counter-plans until Saki stepped into the strategy room, both her expression and posture resembling something closer to her normal, cheerful self. She plopped herself into the foam pile, careful not to disturb Hato.

“So...that detective guy stole your shirt, did he?”

“That was a lie,” Kokichi muttered.

“Uh-huh. Suuuuuure.” Kokichi could almost hear Saki’s eyes rolling. “He seemed kinda...timid? I honestly never thought that’d be the type you’d get a crush on.”

“He’s not my crush. He’s my_ rival._” A note of bitterness slipped into Kokichi’s voice, but he quashed it. “Besides, it’s not like you’re in any position to make fun of who I’m interested in, Miss Planned-Her-Wedding-To-A-Murderer-Before-She-Even-Met-Him.”

“Hey! I didn’t--I wasn’t--He was a bit weird, sure, but I didn’t think that meant he’d have a dead body in his backyard! I mean, I know it’s not exactly _normal_ to have an interest in the occult, but here I am trying to do summoning rituals, and I haven’t killed anybody!”

Saki’s voice grew loud. Kokichi whirled around, pressing a finger to his lips, but it was too late.

Hato yawned, stretched her arms, and cracked one bleary eye open.

“Ah, sorry! Sorry!” Saki said. “I’ll keep quiet. Hato, just go back to sleep, kay? I didn’t mean to wake you up!”

Hato cocked her head. But, instead of closing her eyes and trying to go back to sleep, she wormed her way over to Saki and rested her head in her lap.

Saki’s eyes filled with a mix of joy and honor. She couldn’t have looked happier if someone had dropped the entire holiday of Christmas in her lap. Carefully, as if not to startle Hato, she placed one hand on Hato’s head and ran her fingers through Hato’s hair.

A sigh of contentment bubbled up from Hato’s chest, and her eyes fell shut. Her breathing didn’t slow back to that steady metronome, though. Hato was wide awake.

“Hm,” Hato said. “Did Saki confess her love to the creepy anthropologist?”

“Oh _hell_no,” Saki said.

“She came suuuuuuper close, though!” Kokichi said.

Saki scowled. “Shut it.”

“Hm. This might be a bit selfish but…” Hato snuggled closer to Saki. “I’m glad. I was worried Saki would have less time to be friends with me if she were involved with someone.”

“Oh, no. No!” Saki said. “I’m a very ‘Bros before…’ uh ‘Bros before…’ Shit, what’s the female equivalent? ‘Bros before…’”

“Bastards?” Kokichi supplied.

“Bros before bastards!” Saki proclaimed.

“But I’m a girl…” Hato murmured.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re still my bro...sis...friend-family-person...I’m making things weird, aren’t I?”

“A little. But it’s fine. I still love you.”

Saki’s mouth dropped open, and tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. She placed one hand over her chest and said, “Kokichi, you’re gonna have to take me to the hospital. I’m in cardiac arrest. Hato just melted my entire heart.”

“Well, guess you’re just gonna die then!” Kokichi turned back to the whiteboard. He tried to brainstorm another plot, but his train of thought was interrupted when Akamaru stepped into the strategy room.

“Hey, Kokichi.” Akamaru said.

“I think you mean, ‘Supreme Leader.’”

Akamaru rolled his eyes. “Look, I’ve gotta talk to you about some important stuff. You wanna come along so we can chat?”

Kokichi glanced between his plans and Akamaru. On the one hand, whatever Akamaru wanted to talk about was guaranteed to be suuuuuper boring. On the other, ninety-nine percent of Kokichi’s heist plans required Akamaru as part of the heist team.

Welp, time to kill two birds with one stone.

\------

“So, Kokichi...” Akamaru leaned over the desk between them. The office’s bare, concrete walls gave the impression of their conversation being an interrogation. “...Saki told me that the heist you guys did was kind of...dangerous?”

“Yeah...she’s lying,” Kokichi said.

Akamaru sighed and buried his face in his hands. “Okay. First of all, Saki doesn’t lie all that often. And, second, when she _does _lie, she has, like, a totally, like, obvious tell, y’know?”

“Soooo, what’s your point here?”

“My_ point_ is that I’m concerned for your well-being. Could you maybe, y’know, have a bit more care for your own safety?”

Kokichi crossed his arms and pouted. “I don’t have to listen to what you have to say.”

“Kokichi--”

“You’re not even my real dad!”

Akamaru clasped his hands together and bowed his head like he was praying. Then, silently, he stood up and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Three...two...one…

“ARGHHHHHHH!!!” The shout was so loud that, even with a wall between them, the noise vibrated in Kokichi’s chest.

Akamaru stepped back inside the office and took his seat, his expression the perfect picture of calm. “So, where were we? Right. Kokichi, you need to stop being so reckless--”

“And_ you_ need to stop trying to replace my dad. Seriously, you’re not even acting anything like him! My_ real_ dad would never be concerned for my well-being.”

Akamaru’s expression filled with worry. “Kokichi, do you...want to talk about that? That seems like--”

“Nope! That was a lie!”

“Right. Okay.” Akamaru grimaced and inhaled a deep breath. “So, Kokichi--”

A staggering, uneven pattern of footsteps thumped in the hallway outside, followed by a series of door-rattling knocks. “Oi! I heard Akamaru shouting! Kokichi’s nearby, yeah?” The doorknob jiggled, and the door swung open, revealing a flushed, grinning expression: Miri.

“Knew it,” she said. She took a step forward, stumbled over her own feet, and fell into the chair next to Kokichi, somehow landing in a way that wound up with her sitting upright. She stared ahead, stunned, but then reached into her purse which produced a napkin and a bottle of water.

“I heard you got a...a cut. So, we’re gonna just…” She leaned close to Kokichi and dragged the cold, damp napkin along his cut. The smell of alcohol hung on her breath.

Akamaru frowned, and his eyes crinkled with concern. “Miri, have you been drinking again?”

“I’m jus’ buzzed. Come on, don’t be such a worrywart!”

“It’s not even noon.”

Miri shrugged. She squinted at Kokichi’s cut. “Damn, that’s a…_weird _shape.”

The cut was a straight line. How much had Miri had to drink?

“I dunno if I have a band-aid that’ll...ah, wait.” She rummaged through her purse and pulled out a stack of tiny band-aids and a bottle of antibiotic.

As much as Kokichi enjoyed being doted on, it was a tiny cut, and a bunch of those mini band-aids would look _super _weird on his neck. No way was he going to show up to his next heist and let Saihara see him like that.

When Miri reached forward with the first band-aid pressed between her fingers, Kokichi dodged out of the way and skipped over to the door.

Miri scowled at him. “Hey, Kokichi, you shouldn’t leave that cut like that.”

“Hmm...nah. I think it’s fine!”

“I can’t believe our team leader has this much hubris.” Miri shook her head, but she put the antibiotic back in her purse. “Alright. Your call. But if it gets infected, don’t come crying to me. At least tell me you’re resting up and eating well.”

Kokichi eyed Miri’s purse. He’d eaten plenty before his heist, but he knew that Miri kept yummy snacks in there.

“Oh...well...I haven’t_ actually _eaten anything yet, but I was just about to go grab some lunch!” Kokichi lied.

Miri’s scowl deepened. Her hand disappeared into her bag, reappearing clenched around a pair of granola bars that she tossed to Kokichi. “Don’t skip meals. It’s not good for you.”

“Nee-heehee! Thanks, team mom!”

Miri’s face glowed with a self-satisfied smile. And the flush of drunkenness. Mostly the drunkenness.

“Don’t encourage him, Miri,” Akamaru said.

“What? I like taking care of people. If that makes me the team mom, then that makes me the team mom,” Miri said, pride evident in her voice.

Akamaru buried his head in his hands. Kokichi took advantage of the momentary distraction to slip out into the hallway where he pressed himself flat against the wall, preparing to eavesdrop.

Or at least, he _would_ have done that, if the entirety of DICE wasn’t already gathered in a line, hiding just outside the doorway’s sight. Most cupped their ears, angling them in the direction of Miri and Akamaru’s conversation. 

Clearly, none of these people had heard of privacy.

Saki, standing at the far end of the line, scribbled something on a sheet of paper. A wave of whispered “to the boss” passed through the line, and the paper wound up in Kokichi’s hands.

Kokichi expected some grand plan or important message, so he was disappointed to find that it only said, “Are Miri and Akamaru in there?”

Kokichi nodded. A few people pumped their fists. Others scowled. Tai pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and started counting out bills.

Although everyone agreed that Miri and Akamaru were the team mom and the team dad, they weren’t actually...together. That didn’t stop the rest of DICE from placing bets on how long it would take them to confess to each other.

“Well, I should probably get going,” Miri said. Her chair scraped against the ground. The line of DICE members tensed, preparing to scatter.

“Miri, wait.” Akamaru’s tone had gone soft. 

Saki gave Tai a shit-eating grin and rubbed her fingers together in the universal symbol for cash. 

Miri fell back into her chair with a thump. “Yeah, what is it?”

“...I’m worried about you, Miri.”

Saki’s grin turned to a frown. Tai breathed a sigh of relief.

“If this is about the alcohol--” Miri said.

“I just really don’t want you getting hurt, or sick, or--you have to realize that this isn’t healthy, right?”

Miri groaned. “Geez, ya hypocrite. You know what also isn’t healthy? Not drinking water.”

“That’s not the same.”

“You did a workout today, yeah?” Miri asked.

“Of course I--”

“And did you drink any water?”

Akamaru went silent. Plastic crinkled, and something slid across the desk.

“This is why you keep getting headaches. You need to remember to hydrate yourself. Now drink up,” Miri said.

“I will, but we need to talk about your drinking problem.”

“Hey, I don’t have a ‘problem.’ Sure, I’m drunk off my ass half the time, but does it make me angry? Does it make me throw things? Does it make me hit people? No. Trust me, I’ve seen someone with _actual_ drinking problems, and I am _nothing _like her.”

“Miri--”

“And I might be wasted more often than not, but I’m still...I dunno, breaking the cycle? Right, Akamaru?” Miri’s tone had grown quiet. Kokichi could hear the wince in her voice.

“But you’re hardly ever sober--”

“Fuckin’ great! I’ll drink to that!”

A pause.

Miri sighed. “I was _joking_. Mostly. I mean, sober me is--”

“Sober you is someone I want to get to know better.”

“Stop trying to be so damn smooth.” Hurt seeped into Miri’s voice. “Besides, you’re wrong. Sober me swings between the lamest person in existence or a goddamn emotional wreck. At least once I’ve knocked back a bit of booze, I get to be someone worth existing as.”

“Sober you is _absolutely _someone worth existing as.”

“Oh please.”

“I mean it! You’re kind and clever and a gosh-darn genius. And, well…” Akamaru inhaled a deep breath. “I just…”

“You’re not flirting with me, are you?” Miri’s tone had a teasing note to it. Even if Akamaru wasn’t flirting, Miri clearly was.

A heavy pause filled the air. Saki raised her outstretched palms, ready to claim her winnings.

Akamaru gave a nervous chuckle. “No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just saying things like I see it.”

God help these idiots.

Saki gritted her teeth and flipped the bird toward the heavens. Tai shook his head and slipped the money back into his pocket.

God help_ all _these idiots.

“O-okay. Anyway, I should probably get going,” Miri said. “I mean, I’ve gotta plan dinner, maybe run to the grocery store--”

“Oh, yeah. Uh, if you’re gonna cook something that involves cutting up stuff, try not to be too drunk, alright? Wouldn’t want your hand to slip and--”

“Hah, you’re worried about me cutting off my fingers? That’s pretty hypocritical of you, Mr. Yakuza.”

“_Ex_-yakuza. And, seriously, take care of yourself, okay?”

“Relaaaaax. I’ll be sobered up by dinnertime. Well, mostly sobered-up. Anyway, see ya later, Akamaru.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

Miri’s footsteps staggered toward the door. The rest of DICE scattered like a nest of startled mice, vanishing around corners or into other rooms. By the time Miri flung the door open, only Kokichi remained.

“You eavesdropping?” she asked.

“Eh? Whadda’ya mean? I just wanted to talk with Akamaru!”

“Liar.” Miri pressed a hand to the wall and brushed past Kokichi, vanishing around a corner herself.

Akamaru stepped out of the office, shaking his head. His eyes landed on Kokichi. “Weren’t you gonna go get lunch?”

“I’m not hungry,” Kokichi lied. “Besides, I need to talk to you about my super-awesome, super-important, super-fun heist plans!”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Eh? But the plan needs a whole bunch of dumb muscle, or else it won’t work!” Kokichi faked a sniffle. “And you’re the perfect man for the job! If you don’t help out, all your muscleheaded potential is gonna go to waste!” 

“You’re not doing much to convince me.”

Kokichi smirked. “Alright then. I didn’t want to have to play this card, but I have an _incentive_ for you.”

“There’s no possible way you could blackmail me into--”

“Not blackmail. If everything goes according to plan, Miri will have to stop drinking! At least for a little while. Well, you interested?”

Akamaru raised an eyebrow. “Let’s say that I am. How’re you gonna pull a stunt like that off?”

“It’s simple: Miri’ll have to sober up if she wants to fly the getaway chopper!”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No fun fact this week!
> 
> Sorry for the short chapter. I had to cut like half of it for pacing reasons.

Shuichi thumbed at the wound on his arm. It was now little more than a thin scab, held closed by a line of stitches. The bleeding had long since stopped, and, with just a few more days, the stitches could be removed as well. 

In the meantime, Shuichi was on doctor’s orders not to strain himself--which served as a convenient excuse to avoid the murder case as much as possible. Besides, Mr. Nagamura was handling it...not well, exactly, but better than Mr. Nagamura handled most things. 

Shuichi wasn’t needed. No surprise. An apprentice detective wasn’t good for much.

A knock rapped at the door to Shuichi’s bedroom. He rolled over in bed and buried his face in his pillow. Better than having to look someone in the eyes.

“Do you need my help with something?” Shuichi asked. Maybe he couldn’t be a good detective, but at least he could be as little a burden to his family as possible.

“I made some lunch,” his aunt called. “And I was hoping you could help me with some of my work.”

Shuichi doubted he could stomach any food, but if she needed his help with something--even if it was something trivial--Shuichi would help. It was better than staying alone in his room, mulling over all the mistakes he’d made.

Sighing, Shuichi pushed himself to his feet and shuffled across the room, his gaze never rising above the ground. He cracked open the door and tried to slide past his aunt’s thin frame, avoiding her sharp eyes. 

She placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“Shuichi.” She paused. The hand on his shoulder tightened. “I understand why you wouldn’t want to be involved in another murder case. I’m not going to tell you whether or not you should pursue it--that’s your choice. But...please don’t blame yourself again. You did everything you should have done and more to protect those around you.”

That was wrong. Shuichi was no hero. Even at his most brave, he’d only been following Ouma’s cues, and, at his most cowardly, he’d let Ouma put himself in danger just to protect his own skin.

His aunt sighed. “I know you’re probably not listening to me. But I’m proud of you. Now, do you want some lunch?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well--”

_Briiing! Briiing! Briiing! _

The ring of his aunt’s cell phone filled the air, bearing down upon Shuichi’s eardrums. His muscles tensed. It was either one of his uncle’s cases, or…

“Ah, Shuichi? It’s Mr. Nagamura on the line.”

Chewing his lower lip, Shuichi accepted the phone. He stared down at his shoes, their toes the same dark gray as the underside of his hat. Maybe if he stared at them long enough, he could pretend that he was the only person in the universe, alone, with no one to hate him for all his mistakes.

Mr. Nagamura’s voice shattered that illusion. “Saihara, I have a wonderful opportunity for you!”

“Ah, I’m not sure--”

“So, you know about The Crowned Horse?”

Shuichi released some of the tension in his body with a sigh. At least it wasn’t the murder case.

But why was Mr. Nagamura treating Ouma’s case like a sales pitch?

“Y-yeah, I know about The Crowned Horse? In general, I mean--” 

“Excellent!” Mr. Nagamua’s voice boomed. Shuichi wrenched the phone an arm’s length away. “Then you’ll be happy to know that we have a new lead! And I bet you’ll wanna pay The Crowned Horse back for the last couple times he’s pulled the one-up on you, yeah?”

“Not...really?” Ouma might be a trickster. But, given how he’d risked his life to protect his accomplice, and even a near-stranger like Shuichi, Ouma couldn’t be a bad person. At least not completely.

Besides, it was Shuichi’s fault for thinking he could investigate without someone getting hurt. Murder followed him wherever he went. Ouma’s case was no exception.

But, although discussing Ouma was a welcome break from the murder case, something was strange. With the murder case being so important, why switch to putting the emphasis on Ouma all of a sudden?

“Mr. Nagamura, did something happen with the murder case?”

“Shit,” Mr. Nagamura hissed. “Alright, full disclosure: I was hoping that if I got you hyped up for The Crowned Horse’s case, you’d just forget all about the murder investigation, and I wouldn’t have to explain this mess of a blunder--at least we think it was a blunder. No one in the department knows how it happened. Anyway, uh, so...you know how we had the Shingujis in custody?”

“‘Had?’”

“Yeaaaaah. That’s the problem. They’re kinda...missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that a few people commented about me not describing the OCs appearance well enough, so I did my best to fix that issue for this chapter, but the third person limited POV has its...limitations. <s>Especially when Saihara won’t actually look at anybody</s>
> 
> That being said, please feel free to keep me honest about fixing this part of my writing. I want this story to be the best I can possibly make it!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. I'm happy to be back!
> 
> Fun fact: Arsène Lupin is one of the oldest and (arguably) most well-known examples of a fictional phantom thief. Since he’s been around since 1905 (and has therefore been public domain for a long, long time), you’ll often stumble across fictional works that make references to him, such as Epithet Erased’s “Arsene Amulet,” or Persona 5’s persona, “Arsene.”

Kirumi’s thirty-seventh attempt at making black tea was, at worst, mediocre. She’d avoided all of her previous errors: Steeping the tea too long, not adding enough honey, accidentally setting her sleeves on fire--the usual beginner’s mistakes, she presumed.

And yet, though she was certain this was the best cup of tea she’d brewed so far, something scratched at the back of her skull, whispering that it was still riddled with flaws, that her mistress--Lady Yume Haishoku--would find it unsatisfactory.

Kirumi internally debated the merits of dumping out the whole kettle and starting from scratch, but her train of thought was stopped short by the sound of footsteps heading in the direction of the kitchen. Their cadence wasn’t familiar, not the Lord nor Lady of the house. Most likely a servant. Regardless, that was Kirumi’s sign that she needed to continue with her duty.

Moving carefully, so as not to strain the fabric of her too-small maid’s uniform, Kirumi loaded the kettle, a teacup, and jar of honey onto a tray and dodged inside a hidden corridor before anyone could spot her.

The sputtering, electric lights were hardly enough to illuminate the dim, narrow corridor, but the familiar path was enough to guide Kirumi’s footsteps toward the young lady’s room.

After a few minutes of following twisting, looping, backtracking pathways, Kirumi met the end of the corridor. Sunlight filtered around the hidden door, and Kirumi pushed it open.

The young lady’s quarters was one of the most ornate rooms in the house. Gold-framed mirrors stood atop every dresser, glinting in the sunlight that filtered in from the room’s floor-to-ceiling windows. The king-sized, canopied bed was covered in silk sheets of royal blue, patterned with a looping design of golden lilies. 

Dressed in a too-large, baggy high school uniform, seemingly having returned to the mansion from a day of classes, was Lady Haishoku herself. She sat at a coffee table, newspaper in hand, chewing on the end of her pen. Her narrowed gaze, framed by locks of blonde hair, was so determined that it could have bored through the page.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Kirumi. Her focused gaze slipped away, replaced with a smile. “Oh, you brought my tea! I was worried I’d finish my crossword before you got back. Doing a crossword without even a sip of your wonderful tea, that’d be just dreadful!”

“My apologies. I will ensure that next time, I will be more efficient,” Kirumi said. She placed the tray down on the coffee table and poured Lady Haishoku a cup.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from a talented maid like you!’ Lady Haishoku said, grabbing her cup of tea. After taking but a single sip, her grin grew as bright as the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “Wow, thank you, Kirumi! This tea’s amazingly delicious!” 

Kirumi bowed. "There is no need to thank me. Your happiness is the reason I serve." Her gaze fixed on the cup of tea in her mistress’s hand. ‘Amazingly delicious,’ she’d called it. The highest praise she’d given so far. Evidently, Kirumi’s experimentation with the art of tea-making had hit upon an optimal combination: Black tea leaves steeped for three minutes, with two teaspoons of honey added when the temperature dropped to precisely--

“Ahaha, hey, Miss Tojo, what’s with that intense expression?” Lady Haishoku asked.

“I am trying to discern the optimal method for making tea so that I can better serve you in the future.”

“Y’know, that determination of yours is really an inspiration!”

Despite her efforts to keep a collected, neutral expression on her face, Kirumi couldn’t stop a light blush from rising to her cheeks. She hid her expression with a bow. “Thank you, Lady Haishoku. It is an honor.”

“Oh no! Stop doing that! You really don’t need to act so respectfully towards a mediocre person like me!”

“My apologies.”

“Ahhh! Someone as talented as you really, really doesn’t need to apologize! Stop bowing, stop apologizing, and maybe...maybe help me with my crossword puzzle? I’m stuck.” Lady Haishoku returned to gnawing at her pen. “Jeez, this is a really tricky one. I’m trying to figure out ‘the name of a fictional thief that primarily steals valuable jewelry.’”

“Hmm...perhaps it’s ‘Arsène Lupin?’” Kirumi suggested.

“Oh! Yeah!” Lady Haishoku counted out the squares, mouthing numbers. “Oh...no. It doesn’t fit.” The pen returned to Lady Haishoku’s mouth, followed by the telltale _snap_ of plastic cracking.

“Lady Haishoku, I apologize if I am overstepping my bounds, and I mean you no offense in what I am about to say, but...I am under the impression that using a pen is generally regarded as a poor strategy in regards to crossword puzzles.”

Lady Haishoku shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. But I like to live dangerously.” The pen’s plastic cap splintered between her teeth, but she seemingly didn’t notice. An ear-to-ear grin spread across her face, and she pressed her pen down onto the crossword. “Aha! Kai...tou...Kid--”

The clacking of high heels marched down the hallway, the footsteps weighted with a familiar pattern: The Lady of the house. And she was headed straight for the young lady’s room.

“Damn,” Lady Haishoku--no, Yume--hissed.

“Indeed,” Kirumi agreed. Her eyes darted between Yume and the door, and she steeled her gaze, not letting any nervousness slip into her expression. She reached to the small of her back and undid the knot of her apron, tugging it off in the same motion as her shirt and passing both to Yume. Yume, in turn, removed the school uniform and tossed it to Kirumi.

The doorknob jiggled as both young women slipped into their respective uniforms. Yume scurried for the bedside table and snatched up a feather duster. Kirumi sat down beside the coffee table and picked up the newspaper, raising the too-sweet, honeyed tea to her lips.

The door swung open. Kirumi took a sip of the tea, hopefully selling the appearance that she had been reading the paper for a while now. Yume leapt over to one of the mirrors and, with too-wide, too-hasty movements, began dusting its frame.

Heels clacking against the floor, the Lady of the house, Aiko Tojo--Kirumi’s mother-- stepped into the room. Her arms rested cross against her chest, and her face was steeped in a scowl. Her height, hairstyle, and facial features were so similar to her daughter’s that--If the crow’s feet around her eyes didn’t betray her age--people might have assumed her to be Kirumi’s older sister.

“Kirumi.” Her mother acknowledged her with a nod.

“Mother. Is something the matter?”

Kirumi’s mother slipped her hand into her purse. She procured a black-and-white checkered card with a golden-crowned horse in its center.

“This appeared in the mail,” Kirumi’s mother said. “We’ve contacted the police, but this thief is especially tricky. Keep your awareness about you.”

“Understood.”

Kirumi’s mother slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her. Kirumi and Yume each breathed a sigh of relief.

“Geez, that intense demeanor really runs in the family, huh?”

“That was...not expected. Our exchange was almost uncovered,” Kirumi said.

“And I didn’t even get to finish my crossword!” Yume pouted. “Oh well, back to being a maid. Would the illustrious, most talented Lady Tojo like anything? Maybe a snack?”

“I’ve told you before, ‘Kirumi’ works just fine in private. And no, there’s nothing I want at the moment. Please don’t waste your energy pretending to clean that mirror.”

“Right!” Yume gave a salute and placed the feather duster on Kirumi’s bedside table. It likely wouldn’t move from that position until Kirumi once again donned Yume’s maid uniform.

As much as Kirumi would have enjoyed planning out her next exchange with Yume, enjoying her brief moments in the role of maid to their fullest, there were more pressing issues to attend to. Namely, The Crowned Horse’s threat.

“Oh no. What’s with the intense look this time?”

“My mother said that the police have been contacted. If that is the case, then they will likely benefit from our doing some preliminary reconnaissance,” Kirumi explained. The unique situation presented an opportunity to assist others, all without having to engage in the tedium and risk inherent with swapping roles with Yume.

“Really? Well just know that I’d be honored to help you out in any way, Lady Tojo!” Yume said.

Kirumi raised an eyebrow. “You really don’t need to go to such trouble.”

“Huh? But it’s absolutely no trouble at all! Not if it would help a beacon of hope and inspiration like you.”

“Very well. I suppose that it could be beneficial to have you accompany me.”

A grin stretched across Yume’s face, and her eyes glimmered like Kirumi had blessed her with an honor beyond compare. “Ahhhhh! Thank you, thank you, thank you so much! I won’t let you down, Lady Tojo, I promise!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the short chapter. My update schedule is to post a new chapter at least once every two weeks (maybe even once per week if I can pull it off), but, in light of recent society-wide catastrophic events, that schedule has slipped. Hopefully, things should continue as normal from here on out, but if it doesn’t, please bear with me.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No fun fact this week!
> 
> Thanks to draw_thy_sword for beta-reading this chapter!

Golden, evening light hung in the air, the setting sun staring down at the back of Shuichi’s neck as he plodded along the road. A series of streams gurgled as they snaked past him on their way down the mountainside. At such a high elevation, patches of watery snow dotted the mountain’s shadow, coexisting with the wildflowers bursting open for their first taste of springtime.

The weather was too idyllic. A murderer had just vanished. From what Mr. Nagamura had told him, Korekiyo had outside help in his escape. Most suspiciously of all, Korekiyo had seemingly been free for weeks, but there was no trail to follow, not even one stained with dead bodies.

But neither Shuichi nor Mr. Nagamura were homicide detectives, and, with Ouma’s mischief back on the rise, they’d had no choice but to leave the case to someone who was hopefully more capable.

Someone capable. Someone who was categorically not Shuichi. That was better for everyone.

In the meantime, Shuichi had been assigned the simpler mission of intercepting Ouma as he tried to rob his next target: A mansion, owned by the wealthy Tojo family.

“Mr. Nagamura, how much farther until we get there?” Shuichi asked.

“About five kilometers. It’ll only be an hour more of walking if we keep up this pace!”

“Five!?”

“Yep! C’mon, don’t look so scared. Besides, the car’s in for repairs. Gotta fix that window after what The Crowned Horse did to it--”

The incident at the Shinguji residence had been weeks ago. How long did it take to re-screw a window?

“--but not much we can do except enjoy the countryside, eh, Saihara?”

“Ah...yeah…” 

Knee-high grass lined the sides of the road, and swathes of pine trees followed the valley’s edges. Even though Shuichi was far away from his hometown, the forested landscape seemed like an old friend. His vision was limited only by distant mountains, and for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t hemmed in by roads or buildings.

It was nice to be out of the city for a change. Maybe out here, with so few people, so few hate-filled eyes, Shuichi could finally have a few moments of calm.

He took a breath, let the cool, mountain air settle in his lungs, and let his eyes roam over to--

An arm, jutting out of the grass. Chalk-white bones. Grayed, bloated fingers--

“Hey, Saihara, you okay?”

Shuichi blinked. A fallen tree branch jutted out of the grass. There were no dead bodies anywhere in sight.

He reached for his hat, but he only grabbed empty air.

\------

“So, is that the guy that, uh…’stole’ your shirt?’” Akamaru asked. He crouched atop one of the pine tree’s thick, lower limbs. His large, muscular form, combined with his apprehensive glances toward the ground far below, made him look like a ferocious bear...that had forgotten its fear of heights until halfway up a tree and wasn’t quite sure how to get down. 

Kokichi shrugged, the movement making the thin branch under his feet sway ever-so-slightly. “That was a lie,” he said, angling his binoculars toward his rival, trying to get a good read on Saihara’s body language.

Saihara’s eyes were aimed toward the ground. If he craned his neck any harder, he’d be staring at his own feet. He didn’t even look up when Mr. What-was-it-mura asked him a question, and he plodded along slowly, a heaviness weighing down his shoulders.

Hmph. So Kokichi was gonna have to use his “Saihara-wasn’t-putting-much effort-into-chasing-him” plans, huh? How boring. And just when Saihara had started acting like a proper rival, too.

“So...I’ve heard rumors that that guy’s your…’crush,’ I think is the word Saki used?”

Those stupid rumors. At this point, there wasn’t much use in denying it.

“Yeah…” Kokichi heaved a false, lovestruck sigh. “He stole my shirt, I stole his hat. That _clearly _makes us bound together by fate! How long do you think it’ll be until our fairytale happily ever after?”

“Hmm...okay?” Even with Akamaru’s huge-lipped clown mask in place, Kokichi could tell that his henchman was giving him a pointed look, trying to figure out how much to believe. 

“Now...Kokichi, hear me out,” Akamaru began. “Maybe instead of doing convoluted heists, you could just...give him some chocolates? Ask him to the movies? Write a love letter? I dunno. If you’re doing this for his attention, this seems needlessly complicated.”

Chocolates? Movies? Love letters? Sure, those would work in a romance, but what Kokichi had with Saihara was a _rivalry. _

But...maybe there was something to those ideas? Yeah! Chocolates that Kokichi claimed were poisoned, tricking Saihara into running in circles of deduction until the truth came out! An old VHS tape dropped on Saihara’s doorstep with hidden, single-frame clues to Kokichi’s next heist! A coded message directing Saihara to Kokichi’s next target, dressed up to look like a love confession!

“And, uh…” Akamaru turned away, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I just wanna double-check that you know how to take care of yourself, but...uh...your parents...they gave you The Talk, right?”

Kokichi tilted his head to the side, feigning obliviousness, “Huh, what ‘talk?’”

“Oh god…” Akamaru buried his head in his hands. “Okay...uh...so...I’m going to give you the crash course here. When a man and a woman love each other very much. Wait, hold on, that doesn’t apply here. What I’m trying to say is--”

“What you’re trying to say is, ‘when a man and a woman--or maybe just a woman--get very drunk--’”

“Hold on, Miri and I haven’t--It’s not--we aren’t--”

“Eh? But I never said Miri’s name, did I?”

Akamaru’s neck flushed the same bright, cherry red as his afro. He cleared his throat. “S-speaking of Miri, she’s staying sober, yeah?”

“Yep! And she should be in position with the chopper, which means _we_ need to get into position too.” Kokichi slipped off the branch, landing on the ground in a crouch. “C’mon, let’s see if we can beat the detectives there!”

“Yeah, sure.” Akamaru swallowed hard, neck paling as he stared at the ground. “Just give me a minute to climb down, ‘kay Boss?”

\------

As the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, the valley’s pine trees began to thin. Through the now-sparse forests, Shuichi could make out the grays and blacks of a distant stone wall: Their destination.

“Now, I’ve done a bit of background work on this place,” Mr. Nagamura said. “That right there is the Tojo residence. As you’ve probably guessed, they’re pretty well-off. It’s no surprise that The Crowned Horse sent one of his calling cards to their property just yesterday.”

Just yesterday…? Given his past heists, The Crowned Horse could take up to a week before making a move. So then…

_“Next time, don’t be so gullible.”_

“Next time.” The words had come out of Ouma’s mouth with excitement woven into every syllable. That meant…

No. No, that couldn’t be right. Shuichi’s detective instincts were what had led to the revelation of both murderers. He had no reason to trust them.

“So, got any ideas on when The Crowned Horse might make his appearance?”

“Ah...maybe? I-I think it’ll take him a while to show up. His last heist ended up with a pretty dangerous situation. He’ll probably be more cautious.” Even though the words sounded perfectly reasonable and were wrapped entirely in hesitation, they still felt like lies as Shuichi forced them into existence.

The road led them to an iron-wrought gate, bordered on both sides by stone walls. Mr. Nagamura reached for the intercom when--

“Hello, sirs.”

“GAAAAH!” Mr. Nagamura sprung into the air, whipping out a pair of handcuffs and brandishing them like a shield. 

The man who’d spoken was old, with streaks of gray in his gel-stiffened hair. His posture was so rigid that if he bent over, Shuichi suspected he might snap in two. His serious, proper demeanor was collected entirely into a neatly-pressed tuxedo.

“I am the head butler of this estate. Thank you for arriving promptly.” He bowed to Shuichi and Mr. Nagamura in turn. “If you would follow me, I will take you to Mr. and Mrs. Tojo.”

The butler slipped a remote out of his pocket and clicked a button. With the whirr of a motor and the creak of metal squeaking against metal, the gates swung open. After sharing a look, Shuichi and Mr. Nagamura followed him inside.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy back to a somewhat regular update schedule. Let's hope it sticks this time.
> 
> Fun fact: Historically, many mansions wanted their servants to be invisible. To this end, they had separate, hidden corridor systems for the servants to use as they went about their duties.

The first thing that struck Shuichi was that the mansion was giant, and needlessly so. The building itself was easily as big as his apartment complex, only half as tall, but sprawling four times as wide across the expansive Tojo estate. The spiral-sculpted fir trees that flanked the mansion’s marble entryway reached twice as high as the surrounding forest. And, as the cherry on top of the luxury sundae, a fountain the size of a public swimming pool gurgled in the front yard, sparkling like something ripped straight from Versailles. There was no question as to why Ouma had chosen this place to rob.

The butler pushed another button on his remote, and, as the mansion’s mahogany front doors swung open, Shuichi stepped inside.

If the mansion’s exterior was fancy, then its interior was downright luxurious. Gold-trimmed, velvet curtains framed every window. Decorative tables lined the walls, each hosting a vase of rare orchids. Completing the image was the entry hall’s centerpiece: A golden statue of a young woman, enclosed on either side by black, marble staircases.

Even if he weren’t up against Ouma, Shuichi still would have had his work cut out for him. The mansion was larger than any person--or even team of people--could reasonably cover, and every surface was covered in something valuable. With so many potential targets, Ouma would have every advantage. 

“Excuse me, detectives,” A young, silver-haired woman marched into the entry hall, followed by a blonde maid whose face was all too familiar.

Kaede…?

The maid’s eyes shone with delight, and she clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling a squeal. She bounced on her toes, and her loose bangs swung across her eyes with the motion.

No music note hairpins, so...not Kaede? Was it her twin sister, Nozomi? Why…?

Shuichi opened his mouth, but Kaede--Nozomi--_her_ eyes widened, and she jabbed a finger to her lips.

Al...right…? Shuichi shut his mouth, and the silver-haired young woman stepped forward.

“I am Kirumi Tojo, the heiress to this estate,” the silver-haired woman supplied. “And, while I would enjoy making your acquaintances, I’m afraid that there are more pressing matters I must ask you to attend to. Come.”

Straight to the point. Shuichi and Mr. Nagamura followed Kirumi and Nozomi--Kaede--one of the twins--up the staircase, dodging into a cramped office behind them.

Overstuffed filing cabinets lined every wall, making it impossible to fully open the door. Outside the window, only a dark, fading orange blanketed the sky, and candle-like electric lights illuminated the room’s sole desk, giving the papers covering it a yellow tint.

Kirumi unrolled a sheet of paper, pointing to various spots as she spoke. “This is a map of the estate, labeled with the names of rooms, secret passageways, and the locations of various valuable objects. Additionally--” She produced a thick notebook from beneath the map. “--this booklet contains records of every valuable object within this mansion, along with a brief description of it, its value in yen, and its location. I complied--” Kirumi stopped herself, clearing her throat with a cough. “--I had my maid compile all this information in the hours before your arrival. I trust that it will be useful in aiding your pursuit of the thief?” She passed the notebook to Mr. Nagamura who, in turn, passed it to Shuichi.

“Yeah, I’ll bet that’ll help a bunch. What do you think, Saihara?”

Shuichi shot a questioning glance to the Akamatsu twin. She gave him a thumbs up. 

Brows furrowing, he flipped through the notebook, skimming its pages. Jewelry, paintings, and the occasional historical artefact all popped out from the list. “Ah, this looks very thorough, but...most of the items listed here are small? What about larger potential targets, such as the statue in the entry hall?”

A frown crossed Kirumi’s face. “My apologies. The information would have been more thorough, but time was limited before your arrival. Still, that is no excuse. I can have an updated list available within--”

“A-ah, no. You really don’t need to go to the trouble,” Shuichi said.

“Nonsense. Your objective is to arrest The Crowned Horse. To that end, I will assist by acquiring any and all information you suspect to be relevant.” Kirumi said the words with so much conviction that Shuichi knew it’d be useless to try to argue with her. 

“However,” Kirumi continued. “Larger, heavier objects were left off the initial list because The Crowned Horse was deemed unlikely to target them. And certain objects that appear valuable may be close to worthless. In particular, that statue in the entry hall is not solid gold, instead being made predominantly of concrete, with a covering of gold leaf.”

Concrete? Gold leaf? Perhaps this mansion wasn’t as luxurious as it first appeared.

“Hmm…” Mr. Nagamura bent over the map, stroking his five o’clock shadow with his thumb. “So these are all secret passageways?”

“For a given definition of ‘secret,’ perhaps. Many of their entrances are easily discernible to anyone.”

“Do any of them do that...bookcase thing?” Shuichi didn’t need to look at Mr. Nagamura to hear the grin in his voice.

Kirumi’s eyebrows furrowed. “A few entrances do function via the pulling of a fake book as an activation mechanism. However, I do not see the relevance--”

“Well, you know what? I think it’s very important to see those really cool--I mean--absolutely relevant-to-this-case bookshelves you have there.”

Hidden bookcase doors? Shuichi had only ever seen them in books or movies. They were a staple of his mother’s mysteries, so seeing how they worked in real life would be incredibly interesting. 

Despite the seriousness of the work Shuichi had to do, a hopeful smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Mr. Nagamura, could I maybe--”

“Anyway, Saihara,” Mr. Nagamura cut him off. “I’m gonna need you to stay here and review all this information.”

“Ah, but--”

“I’m counting on you!” With that, Mr. Nagamura slipped out of the office, following behind Kirumi. The Akamatsu twin trailed behind them, slowing and tossing a glance over her shoulder.

“Nozomi…?” Shuichi tried.

Her eyes shone like one of the mansion’s chandeliers, and a grin stretched across her face.

“Aaa! You recognized me!” Nozomi said. “I’m surprised someone as impressive as you would even notice me, much less remember who I am--”

“Ah…” Truth be told, Shuichi’s guessing her name right had been more up to luck than anything else.

“--I mean, an awesome detective like _you_ is really under no obligation to remember someone unimpressive like_ me,_ but the fact that you remember even such an insignificant piece of information just goes to show how talented you are!”

“Ah, I’m not really that impressive of a--”

“You really don’t need to be so modest. Here! Look!” Nozomi fished a folded newspaper out of her apron which she shoved into Shuichi’s face. “See? It’s talking about you!”

Shuichi flinched at the sight: The Shinguji’s flowerbed, ground turned over in the space where the corpse had been hidden, a line of yellow police tape roping it off from the rest of the yard, and, to the side of that image, Korekiyo Shinguji’s disgusted, hate-filled expression.

“You’ve gotta be the most talented detective in the entire country! You’ve caught a murderer, and you’re well on your way to catching the country’s most famous phantom thief!”

Catching...Ouma?

Shuichi’s chest grew tight. He tore his eyes away from the image and stared at his shoes, not daring to shut his eyes or glance to Nozomi’s. He’d already experienced too many hate-filled gazes.

“Oh! Sorry! I shouldn’t be wasting your time when you’re obviously doing something important. And besides, I’ve really, really gotta go!” Nozomi stuffed the newspaper into her apron. “It’s my job to keep an eye on Lady Tojo, and if I don’t do a good enough job, my boss is gonna fire me! Or worse!” With that, she ducked out of the office.

Shuichi finally had time to breathe a sigh of relief. At least with Nozomi gone, he was all alone. As an apprentice detective, he was a novice at best, but his greatest skills had always been in going through boring or routine information, and the notebook and maps couldn’t stare at him with a murderer’s eyes. It was mundane. It was simple. It was comfortable.

Shuichi pored over the notebook first. The information there was abstract concepts, strings of names, locations, and monetary value. Even as the information filed away into his memory, he tried not to think too deeply about its implications. Implications meant thinking about strategy, and strategy meant thinking about Ouma.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

The sound came from the window. On the other side of the glass, half-illuminated by the office’s faux candles, was Ouma’s smirking face.


	24. Chapter 24

“Nee-heehee! Hey, Saihara!” Ouma called, voice muffled by the sheet of glass between them. He swayed in place, holding tight to a rope that stretched out of sight, presumably anchored somewhere on the roof. A tattered cape hung from his neck.

“O-Ouma?”

“Yep! Could you do me an eensy-weensy little favor and let me in?” A seemingly innocent smile spread across Ouma’s face. Even after everything that had happened during their last meeting, Ouma’s eyes were still bright and admiring.

And yet, Shuichi reached for his absent hat.

“Aww, I guess I’ll have to do it myself,” Ouma said. He reached into his cape, pulled out a screwdriver, and kicked off the wall.

Shuichi dodged out of the way, clutching the notebook to his chest as Ouma brought the screwdriver into the window’s corner. The glass splintered with a crik, and it fell away, scattering across the floor in a cascade of jagged shards. 

“Wow! That actually worked!” Ouma slipped through the window, flashed Shuichi a smile, and took a step toward him.

But, after everything Ouma had done, no matter how kind he appeared, there was no way Shuichi could be sure that Ouma wasn't up to something. Shuichi took a step back.

The grin fell from Ouma’s face. For a moment, the thief’s expression was stony, unreadable.

Then, the grin returned, and Ouma pumped his arms up and down, a spark of wonder--probably nothing more than an act--shone in his eyes. “Woooooow! Looks like you really took what I said to heart. You’re acting a lot less gullible now. I’m glad I picked a rival who can learn not to be stupidly vulnerable! This’ll sure make our game suuuuuuper fun!”

A game. Was that all this was to Ouma, even after dead bodies and murderers had been thrown into the mix?

“Ouma, why are you here?” Shuichi asked.

“Huh? Saihara, I’m your rival! You really don’t need to be so cold. Couldn’t you say something more exciting? Like ‘what do you think you’re doing?!’ or ‘how dare you show your face again!’”

“Ah, but--”

“Anyway, I’m here to claim the life debt you owe me!”

Ouma couldn’t have shown up for something so trivial. It had to be a lie. 

“But I...don’t owe you a life debt,” Shuichi said.

Ouma sniffled. A sob shook his shoulders, and thick columns of tears ran down his face. “I-I can’t believe you, Saihara! I thought you detective types were supposed to be good, honest people, but here you are going back on the most important promise you’ve made in your entire life!”

“I didn’t promise--”

“Yes you did! ‘Till death do us part.’ You promised! That’s a life debt!”

“That’s something completely different than a life debt! And I’ve never--” Shuichi sighed. There was no point in arguing. Ouma was just going to keep him running in verbal circles.

Ouma’s tears stopped, and his posture straightened, expression taking on a childish pout. “Aww, are my lies boring you? That’s a shame. They’re all custom-made, just for you. I was hoping you’d like them more...”

It wasn’t quite that. Ouma had never approached Shuichi without a trick up his sleeve. If their last encounter was any indication, it was only a matter of time before Ouma tried to pull one over on him.

“Huh, y’know, I kinda expected you to be trying to arrest me by now. Did something happen?” Ouma pressed a finger to his chin, seemingly deep in thought. “Oh, wait! I got it! This is a trap, isn’t it, Saihara?”

“What? Why would--”

“And that’s why you volunteered yourself as bait! You knew I wouldn’t be able to resist coming after my rival!”

“Ah...even if this were a trap, wouldn’t it make more sense to use a valuable treasure as bait?” Shuichi suggested.

Fake tears brimmed in Ouma’s eyes. “S-Saihara, don’t say that about yourself. You’re more valuable than any treasure in this mansion. Not the artwork, not the gold, not the statues. Y-you’re worth more than anything else!”

“Oh...thanks?”

“Yeah! Apparently vital organs sell for a lot on the black market. All of you put together is worth tens of millions!”

Shuichi’s shocked expression must have been plainly visible because Ouma took one look at his face and said, “But you don’t need to worry. My evil organization has a ‘no organ theft while on duty’ policy. Too many bad horror movie references, not enough work getting done. You get the picture.”

“N-no? Hold on. What do you mean, ‘too many--’”

“Aaaanyway, I’m surprised you picked a boring office room for a trap.”

“I’m not trying to--”

“I mean, you and I have been rivals for a while now. And I thought we knew each other well enough that you’d pick something like a bedroom instead.”

“And...why would I do that?”

Ouma’s eyes fell half-lidded, and a smirk crept up his cheeks. He placed a hand on Shuichi’s chest, pressing him backward until his back hit a metal filing cabinet.

“Does my beloved detective really not know? Or are you just playing dumb?” Ouma’s voice dropped to a whisper, and he raised a hand to cover Shuichi’s eyes. How the thief had uncovered Shuichi’s fear was a mystery, but one Shuichi wasn’t particularly interested in solving, given the soft, feather-light fingertips trailing up his neck, his chin, his lips--

“A rival who makes themselves so stupidly vulnerable is no fun at all!”

Shuichi’s arm flew upwards, clenching Ouma’s wrist in a vice.

“This is another trick, isn’t it, Ouma?”

“Nee-heehee! You’re really catching on, Saihara.” Ouma’s hand darted for Shuichi’s fingers, but Shuichi moved quicker. He thrust the notebook high into the air, well out of Ouma’s reach.

“Huuuh? You’re playing a game of keep-away? That’s so totally unfair!” The hand fell from Shuichi’s eyes, and he dared crack one eyelid open.

Ouma stood on his tiptoes, one hand stretched upward. He glared at the notebook, but, no matter how much he tried to grab at it, the book remained just beyond the reach of his fingertips.

So that was what Ouma was after.

“Saiharaaaaa! You’re so cruel! How am I supposed to fund my evil organization if you stop me from stealing from the rich and giving to the poor?”

“...Is your evil organization really ‘poor?’ With all your heists, that shouldn’t be possible.”

“We’re rich in money but poor in character, so stealing from the rich and giving to ourselves technically makes us a bunch of Robin Hoods!”

“That’s not how--”

Ouma’s smug expression didn’t falter, but one of his elbows swung toward Shuichi’s gut. Shuichi dodged out of the way. The sharp blow glanced off his waist, colliding against the filing cabinet with an echoing bang! A muttered curse hissed out of Ouma’s mouth. Clutching his elbow, the thief whirled around to face Shuichi.

In the time it had taken Ouma to regain his composure, Shuichi had bolted to the other side of the room, putting a desk between himself and the thief.

“You know, you’re a really annoying rival, Saihara. Seriously, the worst.”

Shuichi glanced between Ouma and the notebook. “Why do you want this book so bad?”

“I want it because I’m the best eavesdropper in all of Japan! I heard that heiress lady saying how it’s got a list of all the valuables in this mansion, so I need it if I want my heist to go off without a hitch! Tell you what, if you hand it over, I’ll absolve you of half your life debt!” 

“But, Ouma why--” why did he steal? What was his true goal in all this?

But Shuichi didn’t ask those questions. That was too close to trying to unravel a mystery. Experience had shown what was doomed to happen when Shuichi stuck his nose too far into other people’s business.

Still, Ouma couldn’t have any nefarious goals or evil schemes, as much as he liked to lie  
otherwise. He’d rushed to protect his friend, stuck his neck out to save Shuichi’s, and even looked after him when he’d been injured.

Ouma was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a bad person.

Shuichi swallowed down his rising apprehension and turned his head away. Guilt clawed at the insides of his stomach. He shouldn’t have been doing this. He was supposed to be a detective, someone who searched for the truth, who didn’t aid and abet criminals. And yet…

...he held the notebook out to Ouma.

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, but I’ll...I’ll trust you,” Shuichi said.

“Huh? That’s a seriously dumb decision, Saihara. I’m a phantom thief, I can’t be trusted at all!”

Shuichi’s fist clenched. He chewed at his bottom lip. “Is that another lie?”

Ouma didn’t respond, but the weight of the notebook vanished from Shuichi’s outstretched hand. By the time he gathered enough courage to look up, the thief had disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this far! I really want to improve my writing so that I can get you all better stories, so feedback about what you liked and didn’t like is much appreciated! Please feel free to comment!


End file.
